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 the United States on the use of the text. 
 
 http://www.archive.org/details/cu31924014518983 
 
"The soldiers of the king appeared with orders that the peo- 
 ple SHOULD . . . LEAVE HOMES AND HARVESTS AND CATTLE." 
 
STORIES OF COLONY AND NATION 
 
 LADS AND LASSIES 
 OF OTHER DAYS 
 
 BY 
 
 LILLIAN L. PEICE 
 
 NORMAL AND TRAINING SCHOOL, NEWARK, 
 NEW JERSEY 
 
 SILVER, BURDETT AND COMPANY 
 
 NEW YORK BOSTON CHIGAGO 
 
Stories of Colony and Ration 
 
 "Che Slar for Independence 
 
 By EVERETT T. TOMLINSON 
 
 Illustrated. 184 pp. 
 
 Che 8lar of 1812. 
 
 By EVERETT T. TOMLINSON 
 
 Illustrated. (In preparation]; 
 
 Lads and Lassies of Other Days 
 
 By LILLIAN M. PRICE 
 
 Illustrated. 1 80 pp. 
 
 Che Building of the Nation 
 
 By LUCY E. L. TAYLOR 
 
 ,\ i'i[j""*. Illustrated. (In preparation > 
 
 Copyright, 1905, 
 Br SILVER, BUEDETT AND COMPANY. 
 
PREFACE 
 
 The child is awakened through the pages of history 
 to a love of literature ; or from the pages of litera- 
 ture he is led into the living interest of history. The 
 earliest teaching of history is best begun through biog- 
 raphy and the hero tale. 
 
 But children, at the age when they are entering 
 upon the formal study of the history of their country, 
 are entering also the period of life when fiction, ro- 
 mance, vivid action, and heroes and heroines of their 
 own sort attract most powerfully. 
 
 The historical novel will not suffice : its scope is too 
 remote ; its style too mature. But the cultivation of 
 a taste which may lead to the future enjoyment of 
 historical literature is perhaps as essential as the mere 
 fact-presenting of history, indeed even more essential. 
 
 Out of the fabric of great historical events or of 
 well-known historical stages in the growth of our 
 country, these little stories have been woven. 
 
 They cover a period extending from the contentment 
 of the colonies under the maternal care of England to 
 their independence and consciousness of a separate na- 
 tional life. Five of the stories appeared first in the 
 pages of the children's magazine, St. Nicholas. They 
 
6 PREFACE 
 
 are "Letitia and the Redcoats," "My Aunt Aurora's 
 Reticule," " Cornwallis's Men," " Letty Penn's Visit," 
 and "The Bulb of the Crimson Tulip." They are 
 reproduced here by the kind permission of The Cen- 
 tury Company. 
 
 In the hope that the stories may deepen the love of 
 country in American boys and girls, the book is sent 
 forth to the American schoolroom. 
 
 LILLIAN L. PRICE. 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 PAGE 
 
 Letty Penn's Visit 11 
 
 Colonial period in Pennsylvania, 1683. 
 
 An Adventure with Captain Kidd 20 
 
 Colonial period in Pennsylvania, 1699. 
 
 My Aunt Aurora's Reticule 39 
 
 Colonial period in New Jersey, 1735. 
 
 Angela of Acadia 52 
 
 Colonial period in Nova Scotia and Pennsylvania, 
 1755. 
 
 A Witch Hunt in Concord .... .64 
 
 Colonial period in Massachusetts on the eve of revo- 
 lution, 1775. 
 
 The Silver Wedding of Uncle Gideon ... 85 
 
 Colony of Pennsylvania on the eve of the declaration 
 of colonial independence of England, 1776. 
 
 Laetitia and the Redcoats 100 
 
 Revolutionary period in New Jersey, 1777. 
 
 Cornwallis's Men 109 
 
 Revolutionary period in New Jersey, 1777. 
 
 In the House of a Tory 118 
 
 Revolutionary period in New Jersey, 1780. 
 
 The Bulb of the Crimson Tulip 141 
 
 Revolutionary period in New Jersey, 1780. 
 
 The Legs of Duncan Ketcham 157 
 
 End of Revolution and the evacuation of New York 
 by the British, 1783. 
 
 Glossary «... 177 
 
 7 
 
ILLUSTRATIONS 
 
 PAGB 
 
 " The soldiers of the king appeared with okdees that the 
 people should . . . leave homes and harvests and 
 cattle " „ . Frontispiece 
 
 " "We stood at William Penn's knee and confessed our 
 
 wicked dance" 17 
 
 " ' i am minded to shoot you at once out of mt wat ' " . 25 
 
 " There, far to the left, lay . . . the huge hulk of the 
 
 Nasct Clews 33 
 
 "My uncle blanched and struggled" ..... 47 
 
 "Angela clung to her grandfather's hand" ... 66 
 
 " With a glad little cry she caught the baby in her 
 
 arms" 61 
 
 "Alexander kept his two fingers crossed as he rattled 
 
 over his rhyme " 65 
 
 " ' Nat, Alexander, you shall not go alone there to be 
 
 witched"' . . 75 
 
 " We two stood by the old sundial " . . . . .91 
 
 "Betsey rode upon my pillion" 92 
 
 "Laetitia detached a little bag and a slip of paper" . 105 
 
 "He dragged them one at a time, and flung them down 
 
 THE WELL" 113 
 
 9 
 
10 ILLUSTRATIONS 
 
 PAGE 
 
 "'cuthbebt, come hither i' i called. 'here lies a 
 
 wounded lad'" 123 
 
 "i tendered him the deer's foot " 129 
 
 '"Not so fast,' he said, smiling quizzically upon her" . 149 
 
 "He twisted his great fist into one corner of it to give 
 
 it a mighty, ripping jerk ' 
 
 169 
 
 " Cheer after cheer greeted him as he at length reached 
 
 the top" .......... 171 
 
LADS AND LASSIES OF 
 OTHER DAYS 
 
 LETTY PENN'S VISIT 
 
 I mind how the roses smelled, and the lilies, — 
 mother's garden was full of flowers, — and I mind how 
 proud I was of the new house of barked logs; 'twas 
 the only one in Gwynedd, and had its staircase outside, 
 very stately. I mind all this, Gwen, and more, when 
 thee gives me that sprig of lemon-verbena, my little 
 granddaughter. Thee must have heard the story 
 of Letty Perm's visit? Thee hasn't? Then sit thee 
 down, my love. I like to tell it. 
 
 For all that I was Quaker-bred, the Evans blood 
 still had its sway in me. In Wales, thee knows, the 
 Evanses were not of the Friends. And I had soft 
 curls and pretty dimples, and dancing came readily 
 to my young feet. But in the old days at Gwynedd 
 
 — no, no! I must not dance. 
 
 The Indians were very friendly, and across the 
 Wissahickon dwelt a settlement of them. A young 
 squaw that came sometimes to our house made friends 
 with me. I remember her yet. She was a lithe, tall 
 girl, graceful, too; and she — but thee must wait. I 
 went often to her camp and learned besides weaving 
 
 — but thee must wait. 
 
 11 
 
12 LADS AND LASSIES OF OTHER DATS 
 
 William Penn had but just finished his house at 
 Pennsbury. I mind the talk of its splendor. 'Twas 
 of fine English fashion and had, moreover, a great hall 
 for Indian receptions, and there the Lord Proprietor 
 of our Province kept his state with all simplicity and 
 dignity. You may well guess the flutter I was in, 
 one October afternoon, when Brother Abner's long 
 shanks came flying up the garden, and he fell over 
 Aunt Jane's apple bowl as he tumbled into the 
 kitchen. 
 
 "Tis three by the dial," he gasped, "and at five 
 comes the Lord Proprietor, William Penn, and his 
 daughter Letty to pass the night with us. Father 
 sends thee word to make ready." 
 
 I mind me I was stinting on my sampler, and such 
 a wry stitch as I put into the cassowary's leg! Alas, 
 it cost me ten stitches to get it out ! 
 
 But therewith began a preparation. My Aunt 
 Jane was of the sterner sort, while my mother was all 
 peace, 'Twas Aunt Jane who kept my heels flying 
 hither and yon ; and truly I dreamed so long of what 
 Letty Penn would be like, over the honey jar down 
 in the cellar, that I earned the box o' the ear Aunt 
 Jane gave me, though she spoke out about it after- 
 ward in the meeting — dear . soul ! — as an infirmity 
 of temper. We built a great fire in the best bedroom, 
 and I aired the linen for mother, all sweet with lemon- 
 verbena and lavender spears. 
 
 "Thee shall take Letty to sleep in thy bed," said 
 mother. And straightway, as I stood before the fire 
 with a fat goose-feather pillow in my mouth, tugging 
 
LETTY PENN'S VISIT 13 
 
 on the cover, the naughty thought crept into my mind 
 which made all the trouble. Perchance Aunt Jane's 
 cuff roused my Welsh blood. So she said, dear soul! 
 
 When I heard the hoof beats coming down the road, 
 I grew suddenly shy and climbed into the great blue 
 chest and nestled down into the thick comforters to 
 rouse enough courage by judicious hiding, so that I 
 might greet Letty Penn in seemly fashion. When 
 Abner led away the horses, I slipped down and peered 
 through the great window. William Penn stood 
 shaking hands with my elders, and I mind yet his 
 sweet, strong smile. He had a courtly manner, and 
 his daughter lacked it not. She sat before the fire 
 with riding cloak thrown back, and a silken bonnet 
 of plain fashion lying on her lap. Her stout little boots 
 were thrust out toward the fire as if her feet were cold, 
 and she looked up into Aunt Jane's face with a pretty 
 winsome smile that set my heart a-beating. I loved 
 her then and was ready to tell her all my secrets before 
 I had even spoken to her. 
 
 So I entered the room and was presented to William 
 Penn, who kissed me kindly on the forehead, and then 
 I was led to Letty. While Aunt Jane lingered near 
 us, we said but pretty formalities. Presently the 
 supper called her away; and I, pulling a low settle 
 closer by the fire, said softly, unwrapping her cloak 
 the while: "Thee's cold. Come sit on my settle in 
 this warm corner. Thee's had a long ride, and I know 
 how a pillion tires one. Let me rub thy hands — so. 
 Wait a bit. Does thee like cats? Thee can have my 
 Mopsy to warm thee." 
 
14 LADS AND LASSIES OF OTHER DAYS 
 
 "Thee's kind," said Letty Penn, hugging my cat. 
 'Is thy name Gwen?" 
 
 "Yea," I replied; "Gwen Evans. Is thee not very 
 hungry?" 
 
 She laughed. "Don't thee tell any one, but I truly 
 am," she said. And we squeezed each other's hands 
 when Aunt Jane set a cold roast on the table. 
 
 I mind that supper, and how pretty our manners 
 were, and how the boys sat in a long solemn row and 
 ate great quantities, though their knee buckles knocked 
 together in shy affright if ever they were addressed. 
 
 William Penn talked sagely to my father of Indian 
 treaties, and all the while, with my naughty poll full 
 of its mischievous plan, I helped my brother Abner 
 bountifully to cheese and cakes, the better to coax 
 him later to lay a fire in my bedchamber. And so 
 he did. 
 
 When it came time for the children's candles, I felt 
 my heart grow jubilant. At last I could talk to Letty, 
 free from Aunt Jane's watchful eyes. 
 
 I mind me how quaintly sweet my room was, with 
 white dimity hangings and a little, dumpling feather 
 bed. I pulled two crickets up to the crackling fire, 
 and we cuddled together upon them. "I think my 
 father likes thine," said Letty; "and thy mother is 
 sweet." 
 
 "Thy father is a great man," I said. "Does thee 
 think us simple here?" 
 
 "Not I, truly," said Letty, frankly. 
 
 "Was thee ever," I said, , bending close to her — 
 "was thee ever sorry thee was born a Friend?" 
 
LETTY PENN'S VISIT 15 
 
 "Never. Was thee?" 
 
 "Yea!" I returned vehemently. "I wish I had been 
 born an Indian! Oh, 'tis fine!" 
 
 "Thee should not wish to be a heathen savage. Thee 
 should be glad thee's of the Lord's people," remon- 
 strated Letty. 
 
 "Nay, but Indian women can dance and roam the 
 woods all day. I hate ugly samplers and stiff caps 
 and Aunt Jane's 'Nay, nay,' if ever I trip it about the 
 garden. Father's lambkins frisk, and the Lord made 
 them, and the little leaves dance." 
 
 With that I made a dive under my white foot- valance, 
 and came out tugging a battered bandbox. "Thee 
 must never tell," I said, tossing my cap on the bed 
 and pulling a tall, hideous Indian headdress over my 
 curls, "but I am going to show thee an Indian 
 dance. They say I am never to dance, but thee 
 shall see!" 
 
 Off came my calfskin boots, and on went a pair of 
 moccasins. I wound some beads about my neck; I 
 twisted a scarf about my waist, all the while watching 
 Letty alertly to see if she admired me. A merry 
 laughter shone in her eyes. Thereupon I sprang to 
 my feet and straightway began such a twisting, whirl- 
 ing, swaying, and leaping, with sidewise bounds, with 
 clutchings of the air, and mad "pot-cheesing" of my 
 sober gown into giddy balloonings, as might well have 
 startled any one. My curls flew; I made the motions 
 of flinging tomahawks, — all learned with care in the 
 woods of that same Indian woman, — and Letty 
 looked on delighted. 
 
16 LADS AND LASSIES OF OTHER DATS 
 
 "Does thee like it?" I gasped, falling at length upon 
 iny cricket, exhausted. 
 
 "It is gayer than grandma's minuet," she said ad- 
 miringly. "Thee might teach me a turn." 
 
 I tossed her the beads and the tiara, arid at it we 
 went; aye, so absorbed were we in the glee of it, that 
 we heard no rattle of doors or casements and were leap- 
 ing giddily when Aunt Jane entered the room. 
 
 Thee doesn't know what a sin it was to Aunt Jane. 
 Letty had been reared more leniently and guessed but 
 little of the horror of my aunt at such an atrocity as 
 Indian dancing. 
 
 "Gwen Evans!" she said, "has the Evil One pos- 
 sessed thee? Get thee to bed." 
 
 And I saw my cherished gear put on the fire, there 
 to shrivel up in the flames; and I mind me how the 
 moccasins curled and writhed and twisted on the 
 glowing logs, while Letty and I watched them with 
 the frightened tears streaming down our faces. I 
 mind how Aunt Jane lit a tall candle and read a long 
 chapter to us, we squeezing each other's hands under 
 the coverlids and sobbing softly. I liked not her 
 good-night kiss, but lay sobbing after she went, with 
 Letty whispering such consolation as she could, till 
 the dear mother came in. My dear mother ! 'Twas 
 she who hugged us both, and kissed us both, and 
 laughed and cried over us; and so we slept comforted. 
 
 And I mind me next morning after breakfast how 
 we stood at William Penn's knee and confessed our 
 wicked dance, and how benignly he forgave us; 
 though I, glancing cornerwise at him, even in my 
 
_l - : 
 
 ' We stood at William Penn's knee and confessed our wicked 
 
LETTY PENN'S VISIT 19 
 
 humiliation, thought I saw a smile curving about his 
 mouth. He and his daughter left us in the afternoon. 
 Letty and I clung to each other on the horse block. 
 This time my eyes were dim with hearty tears. 
 
 "Thee will always keep my sweet-grass ring?" I 
 murmured. 
 
 "Always," she said. "And thee will keep my car- 
 nelian heart?" 
 
 "Verily I will," I said, "all my life." And so I 
 watched her gray cloak vanish up the road between 
 the gold and scarlet maple trees. 
 
 This is the carnelian heart here, in this little case, 
 Gwen. And the roses and the lilies of mother's garden ? 
 Oh, it was years later that I culled a great, bright nose- 
 gay of them to take to Letty Penn's wedding. But 
 whenever I think of them I think also of her, and this 
 sprig of verbena which thee brings me, love, takes me 
 back to the old home and the old days. 
 
AN ADVENTURE WITH CAPTAIN KIDD 
 
 I, who set forth this narrative, am one Felix Mar- 
 shal, son of the honorable Seth Marshal, formerly of 
 the firm of Marshal and Wix, barristers, in the town of 
 Lewes, province of Pennsylvania. Being urged by 
 certain of my grandchildren to perpetuate a tale which 
 has ever given much pleasure to them in the hearing, 
 I do hereby transcribe it to written form, and do be- 
 queath it, in good faith and verity, to the sons and 
 daughters of my heirs and assigns forever. 
 Set with my seal, 
 
 this fifteenth day of April; 
 At Marshalton Manor, in the year of our Lord, seven- 
 teen hundred and fifty-one. 
 
 'Twas on a bright, clear afternoon in the month of 
 June, 1699, that I closed my books most gladly, after 
 my lessons for the next day were prepared, and donning 
 hat and cloak, set forth for my usual walk. 
 
 My father's house stood on a good eminence overlook- 
 ing Delaware Bay. From the porch I could see far out 
 to the broad horizon line ; my favorite walk was down the 
 winding, bush-fringed paths to the lonely shore. Here 
 I was wont to walk for hours, sometimes studying the 
 curious sea life washed up to my feet, sometimes poring 
 
 20 
 
AN ADVENTURE WITH CAPTAIN KIDD 21 
 
 over my favorite book, but more often, with folded 
 arms, giving myself up to dreams. At this time I had 
 a special reason for my stroll upon the shore; my 
 brother Reginald, who for two years had been to school 
 in London, was returning to us by a ship which was 
 looked for now, every day. A little ' back from the 
 shore, and out of sight of our lands, lay Lewes Town. 
 'Twas near there that the ship would heave to and 
 send my brother by a tender to the land, while she 
 went on up the bay, northward, to Philadelphia. 
 
 I set great store by my brother. I was a tall, thin 
 lad of a certain delicacy of constitution, with straight, 
 corn-colored locks which my mother steadfastly refused 
 to let me hide under a wig; she tied them herself 
 every morning into a queue, and then kissed me upon 
 the forehead. I was my mother's favorite. But my 
 father looked upon my dreaming, bookish ways with 
 a hearty disfavor and staked his pride in my brother 
 Reginald. 
 
 Reginald was of stocky, sturdy build, broad of 
 shoulder and clean of limb. He was as much my idol 
 as my father's; for a braver, merrier lad never lived. 
 
 I reached the shore in the westering sunlight. The 
 broad bosom of blue water was empty of ships; not 
 even a fishing boat was in sight, and a stiff sea breeze 
 was blowing. Like a young colt which has been stabled 
 too long, I was ready for a canter. 
 
 I looked up the shore toward the town, and down 
 the shore, seaward, where a wild, rugged beach wound 
 below rough, pine-grown bluffs. 
 
 There was, in that direction, a sheltered cove, fre- 
 
22 LADS AND LASSIES OF OTHER DATS 
 
 quented only by myself and certain waterfowl. This 
 I chose as the goal of my walk. With long-legged 
 strides I set off, nor let up my pace till I found myself 
 in the little, still haven, overlooking the broad waterway 
 to the sea. In the shelter of a clump of stunt pines, 
 a little up the bluff's side, I stretched myself for an hour 
 of lazy dreaming. 
 
 I know not how long I had dreamed there, with my 
 chin dropped upon my chest in deep revery, when I 
 was suddenly roused and very much startled by the 
 lapping splash of oars in the water. Distinctly and 
 clearly I heard them, though I saw no ships from my 
 small haven. In a few seconds, however, I was left 
 in no doubt; around the bend of the inlet came a 
 broad-beamed, heavy boat, manned by eight of the 
 most curious-looking sailors I had ever set eyes upon. 
 Standing in the stern and directing their movements 
 was a man of fierce and singular aspect. I concluded 
 at once that these men were pirates. 
 
 The sailors wore bright-colored blouses, sashed with 
 broad, red silk girdles; on their heads were silk ker- 
 chiefs, plainly bound and knotted in the rear; they 
 had great hoops of gold in their ears, and their belts 
 bristled with knives and pistols. Their leader wore a 
 long blue frock coat down to his knees, trimmed along 
 the edges with close rows of small gold buttons; a sash 
 of gorgeous rich silk fell from one hip; his shirt of fine 
 white linen was wide open at the throat and caught by 
 a silk tie, loosely knotted; he also wore the bandana 
 and earrings, and in addition, a broad-brimmed, pot- 
 crowned hat. 
 
AN ADVENTURE WITH CAPTAIN KIDD 23 
 
 Perhaps I did not notice all these details in my first 
 glance, when the boat swept into the cove; but I had 
 plenty of time to observe them later on, as you will 
 learn. The boat was brought very skillfully to beach, 
 and one by one the sailors leaped to land. At the last, , 
 their leader with a mighty bound sprang into their 
 midst ; and as he did so his eye, keen as that of a falcon, 
 espied me where I lay in the bushes. 
 
 From their first appearance I knew that these men 
 were desperadoes on some errand of sin, and that I 
 was, for the first time in my life, face to face with danger. 
 But singularly enough, fear did not in the least degree 
 dominate me as I met the eye of the leader; I knew 
 escape was impossible, and in a strange way I took no 
 account of what might be done to me. 
 
 "Hither, younker," he roared, setting the great pistol 
 which he held in his right hand straight at me. I 
 looked beyond its gleaming barrel into the eyes of the 
 man and read there an assurance that he would not 
 shoot me; nevertheless, I gathered my cloak about me 
 and came to him at once. He watched my gait, which 
 I flatter myself was fearless enough as I swung down 
 the bluff, and a sneer curled about his lips. 
 
 "Who are you?" he asked in a rough tone when I 
 stood before him. 
 
 Without hesitation I gave him my name and con- 
 nections. 
 
 "And what do you here?" he continued. 
 
 "Truth to tell, at the instant you came in sight I 
 was taking my leisure in this place," I replied, "it 
 being the recreation period allowed me by my 
 
24 LADS AND LASSIES OF OTHER DAYS 
 
 father; my occupation at present must be apparent 
 to you." 
 
 He growled. " Do you know who I am ? " he presently 
 asked. 
 
 "Scarcely that, sir," I made answer, "since I have 
 never met you before. Indeed I am not accustomed 
 to number among my acquaintances persons in your 
 line of business." 
 
 My tone was arrogant, and it angered him. His 
 pistol clicked, but I did not flinch; somehow by an 
 instinct I knew that he would not kill me. 
 
 "Know then, younker, I am one William Kidd, once 
 captain of the good ship Adventure, port of New York, 
 by my sailing commission ; and now I am come to this 
 cove on most private and pressing business of my own, 
 to be transacted before I look around for supplies. I 
 am at present on board the sloop Antonio, bound for 
 New York." 
 
 I knew him. He was that merchant, Captain Kidd, 
 who had been fitted out by the Earl of Bellomont,. 
 governor of New York, to cruise, in the name of the 
 king and the governor, against the pirates of the high 
 seas, and the merchant ships of, Spain and Portugal. 
 He was now accused of having turned pirate himself, 
 and an order was abroad for his arrest by any of the 
 king's ships. 
 
 "I know you, sir," I returned, "and doubt not the 
 Earl of Bellomont awaits a sight of you most eagerly." 
 
 Again his fist clinched upon his pistol at my saucy 
 words, and he said, "I am minded to shoot you at once 
 out of my way." 
 
'I AM MINDED TO SHOOT YOU AT ONCE OUT OF MY WAY 
 
AN ADVENTURE WITH CAPTAIN KIDD 27 
 
 He turned and hurled an order at his men who were 
 waiting in a group near the boat. Then he fixed a 
 piercing glance on me. 
 
 "Do you know what I do with treacherous sailors 
 who have helped me bury my gold?" he roared. "Kill 
 them, lad, kill them with the same ease that a lady 
 brushes away a gnat; and thus I can kill you." 
 
 "So you can, sir," I retorted, "and with more ease 
 that there's none to see you do it and I myself bear no 
 arms." 
 
 The latter reason, coming from a willowy stripling 
 of sixteen opposed to his thickset, giant bulk, seemed 
 to amuse him ; his look softened and he thrust his pistol 
 into his belt. 
 
 The sailors were dragging a strange-looking, iron- 
 bound chest up the shore ; with it were two heavy bales 
 of goods wrapped in tarpaulins. After various direc- 
 tions from the captain, the men began to dig a hole; 
 and he once more turned to me, keeping the while a 
 sharp eye on their work. 
 
 ''Lad, by the glint of your eye, your word's an honest 
 one. What is that small hamlet yonder, that hugs 
 the shore?" 
 
 '"''Us Hore-kill, a little fishing village." 
 
 "And the folk?" 
 
 "Much of your ilk, sir captain. 'Tis a haven for all 
 sorts of craft ; they are a rebellious, impoverished hand- 
 ful of folk. They love not law and defy authority, 
 having as great a traffic in smuggling as in fishing; and 
 your name would strike less fear than admiration among 
 them." 
 
28 LADS AND ZASSIES OF OTHEB DAYS 
 
 "That speaks well for my chance of getting supplies 
 from them. Now, my lad, stand steadily by, here, 
 while I lend a hand yonder; my chest is ready for ths 
 burial. And say your prayers to while away the time, 
 lest you soon be ready also." He cast upon me an evil 
 smile and strode over to his men. 
 
 Escape was clearly impossible; I knew that I was a 
 prisoner to this fierce, lawless man. I had no notion 
 of what he would do with me. In spite of my peril, 
 however, I swung my cloak nonchalantly over my shoul- 
 der and looked from the great pit, fast yawning for the 
 treasure chest, off, past the beached boat, to the sailless 
 horizon of the bay. 
 
 Night was falling, the sweet June night with its long 
 twilight; the breadth of the bay water, bereft of sun- 
 light, was already a cold steel-gray. 
 
 In a little while my father would come riding up the 
 avenue on his horse; my mother, sweet and smiling, 
 would cross the porch to greet him; the slave boys 
 would run to and fro to fetch and carry for him. Then 
 the candles in the drawing-room would be lighted; my 
 father and mother and tutor, in evening dress, would 
 meet each other there in the cheerful glow and lock 
 about for me. I thought regretfully that because I 
 was so often late for dinner, there would now be no 
 reason for alaim at this early absence ; but when later — 
 
 A deep oath from the captain startled me from my 
 reverie. The chest was fast disappearing under the 
 shifting sand; cold, gray shadows were dropping 
 around us; and far out on the horizon arose a dark 
 mass — 'twas a merchantman standing in toward Lewea 
 
AN ADVENTURE WITH CAPTAIN KIDD 29 
 
 Town. She was too far off to be made out, but I had 
 little doubt that she was Reginald's ship coming at last 
 — the Nancie Clews, Captain Darcy of London. The 
 tide had just turned to run out, and she could proceed 
 no farther up the bay; besides bringing my brother, 
 she had on board bales of goods of great value for my 
 father from my uncle in London, and merchandise for 
 certain wealthy merchants of the Town. She would 
 therefore lie to, outside, and wait until the early morn- 
 ing to make the harbor. 
 
 Captain Kidd was watching the Nancie Clews with 
 such a great and singular change of countenance that 
 I was at a loss to account for it at first glance. His 
 face was marked with fear, hesitation, and a deep 
 anxiety. He hastened the work of his men; the sand 
 over the chest was leveled off, and then, before I could 
 grasp even in thought what had happened, I found 
 myself in the bottom of the boat, crouched at Captain- 
 Kidd's feet, while the oars beat a tattoo of haste upon 
 the smooth bay water. We were headed toward his 
 little sloop which had skirted along the shore with the 
 tide and now lay under the shelter of a heavy bluff, 
 just below Hore-kill. We came alongside her, and 
 with little ceremony I was flung upon the deck. Cap- 
 tain Kidd strode about giving orders. Around me 
 stood a crew of desperadoes, their coarse, saber-slashed 
 faces grinning at me. 
 
 "He be slim stuff for our trade, eh, captain?" 
 laughed one of them. "Belike you'll maybe put him 
 to ransom, but you'll niver be able to put him to work; 
 look at the lily-white hands and the golden baby hair ! " 
 
30 LADS AND LASSIES OF OTHER DAYS 
 
 "He'll do for a cabin boy," said the captain; "let 
 him go free on the ship. He can escape only by swim- 
 ming, and he could never swim to shore, that weakling ! 
 Get a bag of doubloons ready." 
 
 His eye roved down the harbor where lay the Nancie 
 Clews. "I'm off to buy stores in yonder hamlet. We'll 
 victual up and slide off past that merchantman in the 
 night. "lis not Kidd will be caught by a sorry trade- 
 lubber and haled to New York." 
 
 A boat put off to Hore-kill. Well I knew the rough, 
 lawless men of that place! My father was hated by 
 them; to see his son the prisoner of pirates would be 
 a joy to them. Should they discover me on this boat, 
 my mother would soon get news of my fate; and I 
 made no doubt that the news would kill her. 
 
 Night or day the water was one to them, and in less 
 than two hours three boats headed to the sloop. I 
 slipped down the stairs into as dirty and ill-smelling 
 a cabin as ever I hope to enter, and thence groped my 
 way forward to a dark hole strewn with boxes and rope 
 and reeking equally of gin and of tar. 
 
 There I lay quietly till the shuffling of feet overhead 
 had ceased. Then I came up into the air again, inhal- 
 ing its cleanliness into my lungs most gladly, and 
 crossed the deck to where the captain stood, watching 
 the dim lanterns of the retreating boats. 
 
 "You told me a fair story, lad," said he, in a mild, 
 even a kindly, voice. "You make less fuss at becoming 
 a pirate than do the most of them that ship as you have 
 done. Where d'ye think you're going?" 
 
 "Wherever 'tis your wil! to sail, Captain Kidd," I 
 
AN ADVENTURE WITH CAPTAIN KIDD 31 
 
 made reply; "I'm in no position to dictate my own 
 movements." 
 
 "The coolest tongue in as weak a body as ever I met," 
 he. cried, giving me a sudden slap which sent me reeling. 
 
 "Say now, lad," he continued, "are you nice at Eng- 
 lish? Being a gentleman's son, 'tis likely you can put 
 fist to pen and say prettily that which I wish to memo- 
 rialize to my Lord, the Earl of Bellomont. The hand- 
 ling of pistol and saber has put me out o' gear for a pen." 
 
 "I can write, yes," 1 said, "if that is what you mean." 
 
 "Then we'll pen a pretty letter together, once the 
 Antonio has the sea under her keel again," said he, and 
 abruptly left me. 
 
 In a few minutes a sailor brought me some ship 
 biscuit and a flask of water. He handed me the latter 
 with a broad grin. "The cap'n says that rum's too 
 strong for a babe," he explained. Nevertheless, for 
 reasons of my own, I could have wished he had brought 
 me some rum also. I drank the water thirstily and 
 made as hearty a meal as I could. 
 
 The night came down upon us, dark, without moon 
 or stars. The Antonio rode easily at her anchor; lights 
 twinkled on the landward shore; I leaned upon the 
 ship's rail and sent aching, longing, heart-sick thoughts 
 to my mother and father and my quiet, peaceful home. 
 Before this time I must have been missed. Where 
 were they searching? What were they thinking? No 
 one had seen me take the beach path, and I had left 
 no word. 
 
 I walked to the opposite rail. Down there in the 
 roadstead gleamed the lights of the Nancie Clews. 
 
32 LADS AND LASSIES OF OTHER DAYS 
 
 There, no doubt, my brother also was leaning on 
 the ship's rail and straining Ms eyes to the home 
 shore ; but how different were our f eelings ! 
 
 I was glad when a sailor clapped me on the shoulder 
 and said, "Come to your bunk, the cap'n says." He 
 led me below to a rough rope hammock in a dim corner 
 between decks. 
 
 Near me, in another hammock, a sailor, drunk and 
 asleep, was snoring heavily. By the flare of a candle 
 in my conductor's hand I could just discern my quar- 
 ters. I wrapped my cloak about me, pulled my hat 
 over my eyes, and settled as comfortably as was pos- 
 sible in an exceedingly uncomfortable bunk. 
 
 The sailor, seeing me stowed, left me. 
 
 With what calmness I could muster, I now turned 
 my situation over in my mind ; but the thought of how 
 I was to be wrenched away, perhaps forever, from my 
 mother and my dearly loved brother brought the salt 
 tears to wet my cheeks. I knew that in a short time 
 we should be slipping down the bay with the tide, and 
 out to sea. I doubted not that the captain's port was 
 New York; but I could not, by any line of reasoning, 
 convince myself that one who had been present at the 
 hiding of so much treasure, would ever be allowed to 
 return to that spot again. The escape I planned was 
 a fearful hazard, but to remain was a greater one. 
 
 If I failed, it would be to go to a gentler death than 
 that which in all probability awaited me at the hands 
 of this godless, wicked crew. 
 
 I knew by certain sounds that we were weighing 
 anchor, and in a few minutes I felt the first forward 
 
AN ADVENTURE WITH CAPTAIN KIDD 
 
 38 
 
 heave of the freed sloop. Cautiously descending from 
 my bunk, I took my cloak and hat, wrapped the cloak 
 about some sailor's clothes lying near me in a pile, 
 placed the hat carefully, and arranged a dummy in my 
 hammock to represent my sleeping figure. Then I 
 crouched among some bales, listening to every sound 
 and awaiting an opportunity to creep upstairs. Sounds 
 met my ears which told me that the crew were pretty 
 
 "There, far to the left, lay . . . the huge hulk of 
 the Nangie Clews " 
 
 generally carousing. I removed my shoes and hurried 
 on deck, meeting no one. After a second's listening, 
 I made for a pile of bales on the forward deck and, 
 holding my breath, crept among them. The wild songs 
 below deck were growing wilder, when suddenly I heard 
 the captain's voice, a thud, as if some object were vio- 
 lently thrown, and then silence. The sloop showed 
 
34 LADS AND LASSIES OF OTHER DATS 
 
 no lights; and as I strained my eyes, there, far to the 
 left lay what I was looking for, praying for, the huge 
 hulk of the Nancie Clews. 
 
 My heart suddenly leaped into my throat and stuck 
 there, a cold sweat broke out all over me, my hands 
 trembled, and the lights of the Nancie reeled. The 
 Antonio slipped along like a shadow. When the mer- 
 chantman was off our bow, I made a quick run, reached 
 the fail where the rope ladder lay, just as it had been 
 pulled up after the last boat load left for Hore-kill, 
 payed it out softly, inch by inch, overboard, and then, 
 with a leap, my foot was on the uppermost loop, and in 
 a few seconds I dropped quietly into the sea. The cap- 
 tain had made a miscalculation; I was an excellent 
 swimmer. In spite of this fact, I had no intention of 
 swimming from the boat to shore in the early twilight, 
 and making myself a sure mark for pistol shots. 
 
 Lying among the bales and casks, I had stripped for 
 my swim, and now, as I struck out steadily from the 
 Antonio, I saw the lights of the Nancie below me, at 
 what seemed a hopeless distance away. Two things 
 were in my favor: the tide was with me and the cur- 
 rent set in the direction of the merchantman. The 
 Antonio was away from me like an evil dream. If I 
 could not make the Nancie, Delaware water was good 
 to die in. I pushed along with an even, steady stroke, 
 resting on my back now and then, when I felt the push 
 of the tide. I gradually drew nearer and nearer the 
 Nancie; but I was also growing cold, frightfully cold, 
 and my arms, with every forward stroke, seemed filled 
 with hot lead and grew heavier and heavier. 
 
AN ADVENTURE WITH CAPTAIN KIBD 35 
 
 Then I prayed; God knows how I prayed! On, on 
 I swam, with pains shooting through me, with thunders 
 bursting in my head, with feebler and feebler stroke, 
 until at length, as I looked up, the Nancie loomed above 
 me; a thousand lights glimmered and wavered before 
 my eyes, and I pulled myself together with an almost 
 superhuman effort. One belief had all along pervaded 
 my thoughts — that the nearness of home, the shores 
 of home, would keep Reginald up on deck. In this firm 
 faith I now cried, "Reginald! Reginald! It is I, 
 Felix! ' Help, before I sink!" 
 
 Marvel of marvels ! My faith was truth. A startled 
 cry from the rail above answered me. I heard the 
 rattling tackle of a rapidly lowered boat; saw the 
 gleam of a torch; and then, as strong hands gripped 
 me and drew me into the boat, I sank into uncon- 
 sciousness. 
 
 When I regained my senses I was lying, dry and 
 warm, in my brother's bunk; his good, kind face bent 
 over me ; as my eyelids hf ted, he motioned me to silence 
 and put a spoonful of brandy to my lips. I sank into 
 slumber, but not before I heard him explaining to some 
 one, that I must have put out from home in a boat to 
 come to meet him ; that, caught by the tide, I had prob- 
 ably abandoned my boat to avoid being carried out to 
 sea, and had then made a swim of it to the Nancie. 
 Love for me and an apology for my untoward rashness 
 mingled in his tones. 
 
 I was aroused next morning by the noise of cranes 
 and chains. I sprang up to find Reginald already 
 dressed. He embraced me heartily, chided me for my 
 
36 LADS AND LASSIES OF OTHER DATS 
 
 foolish trick, and assisted me to dress. After a time 
 the tender came alongside; and in the early morning 
 once more I stood at the rail of the boat, gazing, with 
 reverent thanks to God, at the dear home shores which 
 the night before I had never expected to see again. 
 
 My father, his face stamped with an anxiety deeper 
 than any I had ever before in my whole life observed 
 upon it, came forward to greet my brother. When he 
 beheld me, he broke down and rained tears upon my 
 head, as he sprang to clasp me first in his arms. But 
 his reproof was sharp and severe when Reginald told 
 his own version of my story, which he now thoroughly 
 believed, although I had not verified a word. 
 
 My mother's joy at regaining me showed only too 
 plainly what her suffering had been. "For my sake, 
 Felix," she said, "you should never have undertaken 
 that foolhardy thing." 
 
 "I did not, mother," I returned; "I was caught in 
 the South Cove by Captain Kidd, a certain pirate, and 
 thence carried to his sloop, the Antonio, whence I escaped 
 to the Nancie Clews which luckily lay outside." 
 
 Both my father and my brother received this state- 
 ment with looks which troubled me. 
 
 "Lad," said my father, "I've had patience too long 
 with your dreaming ways; in the spring to school you 
 go, over to London." 
 
 I knew he thought me lying. Reginald, too, thought 
 I had lied; and only to my mother dared I pour forth 
 the truth of those few hours. 
 
 I shunned the little cove ; its ill-gotten treasure could 
 lie there and rust forever, so far as I was concerned. 
 
AN ADVENTURE WITH CAPTAIN KIDD 37 
 
 For a long time I shunned the beach also and took to 
 riding abroad over the country, much to my father's 
 delight. 
 
 One night a friend of his, who was dining with us, 
 told of the presence of Captain Kidd in New York, and 
 gave much information regarding his guilty career. 
 
 My father raised his eyes to my face, and in them I 
 read a puzzled question. Reginald, too, stared thought- 
 fully at me over his fish. , 
 
 Next day he proposed a walk along the beach and, 
 as I expected, led in the direction of South Cove. All 
 the way there he amused me with merry tales of his life 
 in London, and not until we entered the cove did his 
 face grow sober. I looked toward the spot where the 
 treasure was buried. The ground had been recently 
 broken open, as a pile of dirt around a rough hole tes- 
 tified; two boat hooks lay near the bushes; a red silk 
 bandana was trampled on the ground; and, hanging 
 from a twig, was a gold earring. 
 
 Reginald stared in amaze. 
 
 "They came back," said I, "as I thought they would, 
 and carried off their ill-gotten gains, I should have had 
 but slim chance of my life, had they not found them." 
 
 My brother was looking at me with a new expression. 
 As we turned back up the shore and I told him my 
 story, I could see how he was forced to reconstiuet some 
 views which he had held of me all his life. 
 
 "Dear father," he said before dinner that night, 
 "you and I owe Felix an apology. He's as brave as he 
 is honest, an honest hero in fact; " and therewith he 
 set forth my adventure to my astonished father, weav- 
 
38 LADS AND LASSIES OF OTHER DATS 
 
 ing about it such a wealth of color and description as 
 would easily have led one to believe him the romancer 
 of the family, and not I. 
 
 At its close I read in my father's face that the tale 
 had greatly exalted his opinion of me, and that at last 
 I held with Reginald an equal place in his affection. 
 
 Captain William Kidd died for .his crimes in London, 
 in the year 1701, while I was at school there. As to how 
 much or how little he was guilty of them, that is writ, 
 once and for all, in the book of God's Judgment. 
 
MY AUNT AURORA'S RETICULE 
 
 "Thee's laughing at my reticule, child Alice," said 
 Grandma, spreading it out on her lap as she lifted the 
 wide bag from the cedar chest and tenderly stroked 
 its faded green satin. " Dear, dear ! how well I remem- 
 ber putting in that bead work! 'Twas for my aunt 
 Aurora that I made it. 'Twas only as a task that I 
 did stitching; for, being a Friend, I held not to gew- 
 gaws. Nay, old bag, thee was bonny when thee was 
 new! See, it is an ample bag. We held to plenty of 
 space in those days. And never, while memory serves, 
 shall I forget the reticule's first journey. 'Twas not 
 to a Philadelphia assembly, with my aunt Aurora's 
 purple square-toed slippers and gorgeous dancing-fan 
 stowed away in it, — though I dare say it traveled that 
 way often enough, — but 'twas a grewsome journey, 
 the like to make thine ears to tingle. Come, I must tell 
 thee of it." 
 
 My uncle Jacob was of the world's people, but my aunt 
 Hannah — that was my father's sister — was a .strict 
 Friend. My uncle Jacob was an iron-master ; and 'twas 
 a grievous wrong to our people, and especially to my 
 aunt Hannah, that he had made gun castings for a man- 
 o'-war lying in Delaware Bay, and had, taken moneys 
 for them. It was therefore his young sister Aurora, 
 
 39 
 
40 LADS AND LASSIES OF OTHER DATS 
 
 instead of Aunt Hannah, whom he carried with him 
 when he journeyed to Red Bank to receive the moneys 
 of certain merchants there. 'Twas a chance ior her 
 to get at Red Bank some bonnets and fripperies in the 
 New York modes, she not being content with the Friends' 
 garb save when she was on horseback traveling. Then 
 she wore it, and bonny she looked in it. 
 
 'Twas on their journey homeward that they turned 
 in their nags at our cedars, one night at twilight, while 
 I stood in my garden watching my primroses open. 
 
 "Thee's welcome, Aunt Aurora," I cried, well pleased 
 to catch sight of her sweet, rosy face and sparkling brown 
 eyes. Father hastened out to lift her from her saddle, and 
 then he and Uncle Jacob exchanged soberest greetings. 
 
 I hastened to draw my aunt into the house and take 
 off her cloak and bonnet. "'Tis a twelvemonth since 
 I have seen thee!" I cried. "Thee's good to look at, 
 Aunt Aurora ; and yea, what does thee think ! I have 
 finished the reticule!" 
 
 "Has thee finished it?" laughed my aunt. "In- 
 deed! Why, thee's a marvelous industrious child! 
 Thee's been at it only two years." 
 
 "Yea," I answered shamefacedly; "but thee knows 
 beads are troublous things to chain. I got them into 
 a sore pucker, often and often." 
 
 ""Tis a bit of folly," quoth my father, eying it humor- 
 ously. 
 
 "'Tis a beauty," said Aunt Aurora. "Marry, but I 
 think 'twill e'en carry my best new bonnet." 
 
 "Of course thee will stay the night at our house, 
 Jacob?" said my father. 
 
MY AUNT AURORA'S RETICULE 41 
 
 "Nay," replied Uncle Jacob, "I have a sum of money 
 to place in a man's aands at ten o' the morning to- 
 morrow. The business is urgent, — 'tis a crisis of 
 the man's affairs, — and I must not lag. We but 
 stopped to try your tea cakes and beg that you lend us 
 Hannah. She can safely ride behind me, and Aurora 
 wants her." 
 
 The thought of a visit to my uncle's great house set 
 my heart adancing. 
 
 "Indeed I must have my promised fortnight's visit 
 from Hannah," urged my aunt, "now that she can travel 
 secure in our company." 
 
 "Nay," said my father, "not so secure. Jacob, thee 
 knows the risk thee runs traveling the pine-woods at 
 night. Stay till morning." 
 
 "As safe by night as day in those long, lonely 
 stretches," returned my uncle. "And my business must 
 be carried." 
 
 "My! Thee's a rash man," cried my father; "for 
 not only does thee cast the implements of war instead 
 of the pruning hooks of peace, but thee ventures into 
 the pine-woods, thickly bestead with highway robbers, 
 when thee has moneys of great value upon thee." 
 
 "Tush, brother ! I can shoot and ride; and Aurora's 
 shot is as true as mine." 
 
 "But the highwayman shoots from covert. Leave 
 the women, and I will lead them over to-morrow myself." 
 
 "Nay," said my aunt Aurora, firmly, to this. 
 "Brother rides not alone to-night. But say, Hannah, 
 is thee frightened to go?" 
 
 "Does thee want to go?" asked my father. 
 
42 LADS AND LASSIES OF OTHER DATS 
 
 "Oh, I do most truly I" I said, a great longing seizing 
 me. 
 
 "See," said my uncle. He showed us the broad 
 seam in the lining of his loose greatcoat. Inside it lay 
 a deep silk pouch, and flat within that a chamois pouch 
 containing the money. "If we are waylaid, there's a 
 bag o' silver bits in the saddlebags which I will fling 
 them; and then whip and spur will carry us beyond 
 their reach." 
 
 "So thee says," said my father. "Hannah, thee 
 must decide. Will thee go?" 
 
 I glanced from Aunt Aurora to the moon turning 
 from silver to gold in the pale evening sky and sheening 
 the pine-woods. Then I looked at our cozy supper table, 
 where I was mistress, and thought on the home safety. 
 
 "Gyp has seven young puppies,"' said my aunt Aurora, 
 alluringly. 
 
 " Oh, if thee pleases, father, I would e'en like to go ! " 
 I decided, forgetting highwaymen at thought of the 
 kennels. 
 
 After supper I ran about, getting ready. "If thee 
 takes me, Aunt Aurora, thee must take Boskie," I 
 cried, stooping to lift him from his basket and smooth- 
 ing his silky locks. Boskie was my little Skye terrier, 
 my only playmate and friend. " I cannot leave Boskie," 
 I said. 
 
 "And what with saddlebag and bandbox, pray, 
 where shall Boskie be stowed?" laughed my aunt. 
 "I think he must e'en ride in the bottom of my new silk 
 reticule. There he can cuddle as snug as a bee in thistle- 
 down. What? Has thee a blanket for Boskie? And 
 
MY AUNT AURORA'S RETICULE 43 
 
 a pocket in it for his collar ? Thee's a little old maid ! 
 But come, my girlie; we must hurry to saddles, while 
 the moon is high. We shall need its light in the pine- 
 woods." 
 
 'Twas a calm night of midsummer. The moonlight 
 silvered everything. Far to eastward, through the 
 silence, came the sound of the sea. My father most 
 reluctantly bade farewell to his little housekeeper, and 
 we rode sedately away. The night air in the village 
 was sweet with dewy odors of rose and honeysuckle 
 and faint musk, which gave place to heavy warm pine 
 scents as we entered the silver dusk of the woods. I 
 leaned against my uncle's broad back and occasionally 
 chirruped to Boskie, who lay snuggled in the bottom 
 of my aunt Aurora's reticule, which had one string 
 unloosed and dangling down, so that he might get the, 
 air. And so we rode for hours. Then my aunt's horse 
 lagged behind a little. 
 
 "Brother," she said with an odd little tremble in 
 her voice, "shall we return to Anthony's? Star has 
 a stone in one hoof. She limps now." 
 
 "Aurora!" he exclaimed in dismay. Then, "Ah, 
 well, perhaps we shall ride through scot-free, in spite of 
 all our terrors. Nay, we must ride on. There be strange 
 doings in these woods," he continued musingly. "I am 
 little minded to lose treasure to these Jersey highway- 
 men ; but duty is duty, and risk is risk. At most they 
 will only rob us." 
 
 "And then what will your creditor do?" 
 
 "I will sell mine own land to make restitution," he 
 answered. 
 
44 LADS AND LASSIES OF OTHER DATS 
 
 Boskie whined softly in his bag. He was lying against 
 the pommel of my aunt's saddle for a rest. 
 
 "Give him to me," I cried, reaching my hands over 
 for him; but even my fingers stroking his head would 
 not soothe him. "He is too warm in his blanket," I 
 said. "Nay, Boskie, what ails thee? What does thee 
 hear?" I questioned, as he continued his whining. 
 
 At this my uncle sprang down and halted both horses. 
 The silence was oppressive; not a sound broke across 
 the night song of insects. He left us, with his pistols 
 in his hands, to reconnoiter a few yards ahead. I was 
 unbuckling Boskie's blanket. My aunt Aurora leaned 
 over to me and said, "Do not take it off, dear. Thee's 
 deft-handed, Hannah. See, brother has left his coat 
 lying on the horse. Slip the moneys into the pocket 
 of the blanket, and strap it close. Haste, my sweeting ! 
 They will not seek for moneys in such a place. For we 
 shall surely be searched," she added with a sigh. My 
 hand shook, but I did her bidding swiftly ; and while I 
 did so, big hot tears fell upon Boskie's coat, and I yearned 
 unspeakably for my little white bed at home. 
 
 My uncle examined Star's foot and remounted. 
 "Ride most cautiously," he said. 
 
 His tone seemed to seal our doom, so sad was it. My 
 frightened heart went pit-a-pat, and every tree trunk 
 loomed ghostly and grim. 
 
 But truly they were upon us before we thought. My 
 uncle's horse whinnied and shied ; and I, clinging to him 
 in sheer terror, saw standing about us the threatening 
 figures of the highwaymen. 
 
 Sooth, they were a bold, perilous gang to meet with in 
 such a place. 
 
MY AUNT AURORA'S RMTICULE 45 
 
 "Let me pass! This is the king's highway," cried 
 my uncle, stoutly braving them and pointing his 
 pistols. 
 
 "What's your business?" asked the chief robber, 
 who stood coolly facing, them. 
 
 "That's as little to you as I would yours were to me," 
 answered my uncle. "You see me here protecting my 
 two women. And I will even do just that," he added. 
 "Stand off and let us go." 
 
 "Can this be Jacob Foulke?" was asked. 
 
 "Jacob Foulke was to ride alone," said a voice. 
 "We'll lose him aloitering here." 
 
 A low sob broke from me as I shrank behind my 
 uncle. I thought of a surety my hour was come; and 
 the idea was sore and new to me, being so softly bred. 
 There was a burring sound of private talk about us. 
 
 "We must have your pelf and your ladies' jewels," 
 said the robbers; "and then ride as you will. Will ye 
 give up, or be searched?" 
 
 "You're a rascally scoundrel," cried my uncle, 
 angrily. He clicked his pistol and moved his spurred 
 boot restlessly across the horse's ribs. "Alas, Star hath 
 no gait!" he muttered, looking to where my aunt sat 
 motionless. She saw that we were surrounded by 
 gleaming pistol mouths. , 
 
 "Let them search us," she decided, laying a calming 
 hand on my angry uncle. 
 
 Stout hands and many of them led us helter-skelter 
 through brake and bramble to an open place, where 
 gleamed a great fire of pitchy logs burning in the soft 
 darkness; for the moon was setting. We were fain to 
 
46 LADS AND LASSIES OF OTHER DATS 
 
 dismount, and 'twas with great disgust and disappoint-; 
 ment that one robber called out, "These women be 
 Quakers!" 
 
 "But what hath the little maid hugged tight there in 
 the silk bag?" cried another. 
 
 "So please you, sir, 'tis only my little dog, my little 
 pet dog!" I pleaded, holding to him, and forgetting in 
 the danger which threatened him the greater danger 
 to my uncle's money. The man grasped him roughly 
 by the skin; but Boskie did not bark, only cried most 
 piteously. Then they flung him aside and turned the 
 reticule inside out. They slit the fine stitched lining. 
 See, here be the mended places. And then they fell to, 
 on saddlebags and bandboxes. There was a reckless 
 turning out o' gear such as made my aunt Aurora wince, 
 especially as she had with her the new bonnets, in the 
 latest New York mode of fashion, fresh brought over 
 by ship from London. 
 
 My uncle blanched and struggled when they pulled 
 off his coat to search it. I can e'en see his white face 
 yet, and the look in his eyes, when Aunt Aurora called 
 to him in a ringing tone, "Brother, you must throw 
 your coat into the fire!" And seeing him unwilling, 
 what did my intrepid aunt, but dart under the ruffians' 
 arms, — they grasping the coat loosely, for their great 
 surety of it, — and seizing the garment fling it into the 
 very heart of the blazing fire, where no one durst touch 
 it. It burned bravely. 
 
 In the hubbub of rage which followed, she stood 
 silent and unwavering, while my uncle said sadly, 
 "Aurora, that was rash. I might have compromised.'' 
 
'My uncle blanched and struggled." 
 
MY AUNT AURORA'S RETICULE 49 
 
 They took the new silver teapot bought for Aunt 
 Hannah, and the bag o' silver bits. 
 
 "Mayhap th' maids ha' siller in their shoon," bawled 
 a thick voice. 
 
 My aunt Aurora dropped instantly to the turf and, 
 pulling off her shoes, flung them at him. They tore off 
 the good silver buckles. Mine, too, they demanded; 
 and I yielded them up reluctantly, being fond of what 
 small toggery I possessed. But I managed to catch up 
 Boskie and smuggle him into the reticule again. 
 
 At last one of the robbers called out, "Lads, let be! 
 We ha' what, plunder these Quaker folk ha' not burned 
 up for us; they be a queer kind o' Quakers, too, that 
 spend their fairin' in bonnet gear! But clear the way 
 o' them. We ha' other work to-night." 
 
 Then they let us go, and scarcely could I breathe for 
 the anxious throbbing of my heart as I felt my uncle's 
 strong arm lift me to the saddle seat, with Boskie in 
 the reticule, and the money safe ! 
 
 My uncle spake not a word; but with a birchen withe 
 (for the robbers had filched his riding whip) he urged 
 the horses forward as well as he could, considering Star's 
 lame foot. He glanced ever behind him, knowing too 
 well that he was Jacob Foulke, and fearing pursuit, 
 while my aunt Aurora's gaze strained to eastward, 
 praying for the dawn. 
 
 Never was its rosy flush sweeter than when it crept 
 at last over the eastern sea. 'Twas only then that we 
 felt safe, and turning aside into the hamlet of Squan 
 we sought its tavern. The inn was closely shuttered, 
 and the inmates were wrapped in sleep. Stiff and ach- 
 
50 LADS AND LASSIES OF OTHER DAYS 
 
 ing, my aunt Aurora and I were lifted down to the 
 square red bricks of the porch, while a sleepy hostlex" 
 came blinking to take the horses. 
 
 I was faint and giddy as I leaned against a pillar, 
 while my uncle began bitterly to bemoan his short- 
 sightedness in taking the journey. "I have even lost 
 all my moneys and brought thee through a dreadful 
 night!" he exclaimed. 
 
 A smile broke over my aunt Aurora's face. 
 
 "Truly, thee might have fared sorely had thee left 
 us behind, brother ; for then surely they had known thee 
 to be the Jacob Foulke whom they expected. And 
 thee has naught to be angry for, that I flung that coat 
 on the fire. 'Twas but the price of a coat. Thee looks 
 surprised. And did thee truly think the money was 
 burned ? Nay, nay ! Hannah, give me Boskie. See, 
 brother, how useful a little dog may be ! A little dog 
 in a reticule!" and, laughing, she handed him the 
 money. 
 
 The landlord, with candle and nightcap, came stum- 
 bling out to see who claimed his hospitality thus early. 
 
 "What! thou?" he cried, recognizing my uncle with 
 astonishment. "So thou and thy women ha' rid safe 
 through the robbers' wood, and at night ! What mercy 
 saved ye?" 
 
 "Partly," said my uncle, gravely, "this little dog, 
 that traveled in a green silk reticule; and by your 
 leave he'll take a sup o' milk and the best pickings of a 
 bone." 
 
 And so the debt money was saved and paid, and later 
 on I was more than happy with Gyp's seven puppies 
 
MY AUNT AURORA'S RETICULE 51 
 
 cuddled in my lap. Boskie had the bonniest collar 
 that could be found in all the city of New York. But 
 oh, he died long, long years since, my dear little Boskie ; 
 and this is all I have left of that gone time — this queer, 
 faded old silk reticule. 
 
ANGELA OF ACADIA 
 
 The Sieur de la Flew was very old, and lame in the 
 right knee. On this account, therefore, the Sieur might 
 be seen twice every week, stumping along with his cane 
 to the cottage of Pierre Comeaux. Pierre Comeaux 
 was famous for his skill with herbs and simples ; and in 
 his little cottage garden grew many an herb familiar 
 to the soil of Normandy, side by side with those whose 
 curative virtues the old man had learned of the Indians 
 in his new-world home. 
 
 Usually, when Pierre observed the Sieur coming, he 
 called to Michelle, his housekeeper, or Angela, his grand- 
 daughter, to make ready the easiest chair upon the porch 
 and to place there the little table with pipes and rare 
 tobacco. Always there must be a pleasant chat with 
 the Sieur, the knee gravely considered and prescribed 
 for, and the affairs of the village talked over, before the 
 Sieur departed with his liniment. At such times, 
 when little Angela was not serving them, she was either 
 spinning her flax or sorting herbs at a table in the great 
 room; and much of their talk fell on eager, listening 
 ears. The Sieur was of a fiery temper and hated the 
 English, who were the lords of Acadia. Neither he nor 
 old Pierre, nor hundreds of others in the peninsula, 
 
 52 
 
ANGELA OF ACADIA 53 
 
 had ever taken the oath of allegiance to the English 
 king. Pierre, a no less devoted Frenchman, but one of 
 more peaceful temper, constantly soothed and calmed 
 his friend when he railed at English rule. For forty 
 years they had lived under it, these two old men; and 
 still they were unsubmissive. 
 
 Sometimes they talked over the tales and legends 
 of Normandy ; sometimes the talk ran on village gossip 
 or crops; but through it and under it and over it ran 
 ever the strain of bitterness, of unswerving defiance to 
 that English oath. Of late Angela had heard a hopeful 
 note : France and England were at war ; France would 
 surely conquer, and Acadia would come to her own 
 again. But the little village of Pubnico, lying far to 
 the west of the peninsula, was mindful chiefly of its own 
 affairs and got its news of the outlying world but seldom. 
 
 On a memorable afternoon, the Sieur left early after 
 a conversation more than usually bitter. Angela was 
 in her garden working among her roses. Within, in 
 his little laboratory, sat her grandfather, intent upon 
 the careful compounding of a sweet ointment. Michelle, 
 in the side meadow, was bleaching her linen. On a 
 sudden, the afternoon stillness was broken by a sharp 
 clatter of hoofs and the clanking of metal. It was a 
 strange sound in little Pubnico. Angela stood upright 
 among her roses and shaded her eyes with her hand; 
 a redcoat officer came riding up, followed by two mounted 
 orderlies. Both bore in their arms and across their 
 saddles bundles of curious-looking weapons. As the 
 officer raised his hat to the wondering little Angela, 
 she saw in one of the bundles the chased hilt of the be- 
 
54 LADS AND LASSIES OF OTREB DATb 
 
 loved sword which had been handed down for generations 
 in the family of the Sieur de la Fleur. 
 
 The soldier asked for her grandfather and, when the 
 old man hurried, trembling, to the gate, demanded of 
 him all his arms. In the early days of Pubnieo, when 
 wild animals and hostile Indians prowled about the 
 tiny settlement, Pierre had made good use of a gun. 
 Now it hung in disuse upon its wooden pins above the 
 house door, whence Michelle's stout arms dislodged 
 it; and it also went to swell the bundle of weapons, 
 already collected in the name of the king, by the order 
 of Governor Lawrence. 
 
 "Why was that done?" questioned Angela. 
 
 "God knows," returned the old Pierre, with a sad 
 and puzzled face; and he returned to finish the oint- 
 ment. 
 
 Half an hour later the Sieur came stumping down the 
 street. His old face worked with rage, and his voice 
 quivered and broke with wrath, as he told how from 
 every home in the village the arms had been demanded 
 and obediently surrendered. 
 
 "Tis the villainy of that man, Lawrence," he thun- 
 dered. "Some evil is surely afoot." 
 
 But the old Pierre soothed and quieted : " "lis likely 
 a precaution lest we be invited to rebellion by the French 
 in authority in Quebec. I would not fear; our lives 
 are open and honest ones; they are in God's hands." 
 
 Then there came a day, a still, sweet day, with blue 
 sky and sunshine, when through the little village there 
 was a sad running to and fro, as the soldiers of the king 
 again appeared with orders that the people should pack 
 
ANGELA OF ACADIA 55 
 
 up instantly, leave their homes and harvests and cattle 
 as they stood, and journey thence to Piziquid. Alas, 
 the sad hours until at length the few necessaries were 
 flung together, the ox cart laden, and down the road, 
 away from the pretty cottage standing knee-deep in its 
 blooming flowers, went Angela and Michelle and old 
 Pierre. 
 
 Upon the way they overtook the Sieur and his house- 
 keeper, Babette, with her man, Jean. The Sieur was 
 sitting bolt upright, with dazed, unseeing eyes, and the 
 rosy color of his face was turned to ashen gray. For 
 once, not one word of all that strange doing was dis- 
 cussed by the two old men ; for soldiers rode up and down 
 beside that long procession of wagons moving slowly 
 toward the shore. 
 
 It was nightfall when at length the tired people rode 
 into Piziquid. The upper village was deserted. They 
 passed farms and barns, one after another, deserted as 
 theirs had been; the cattle lowed at the bars in vain, 
 the horses whinnied in the stalls; no living soul was 
 seen. But on the shore what a medley met their 
 eyes! 
 
 The tide had run out and the great river, which at 
 its flood was able to bear the hulks of seagoing ships, 
 was now a channel of mud and water pools. A wild 
 disorder lined its banks. All Piziquid was there — 
 the householders of the Acadian farmers, dumb with 
 amazement, camped in sorrow on its banks. Two 
 boats had been freighted and had gone down with the 
 tide that afternoon.' In the morning ships would come 
 up to take those who were left. The air was rent with 
 
56 
 
 LADS AND LASSIES OF OTHER DATS 
 
 wailing and sobs; for families had not been removed 
 together, but some members taken and others left. 
 
 To Angela's frightened gaze, the shore at first was 
 Bedlam; then her eye caught, here and there, one or 
 another whom she knew. She crept close to her grand- 
 father and sought in vain to still Michelle's loud weep- 
 
 ' Angela clung to hek grandfather's hand.' 
 
 ing. Their oxen were turned adrift to wander wherever 
 they might wish to go. Pierre built a little fire as the 
 chilly night came on ; beside this, all night long, he sat 
 with the Sieur de la Fleur— two old souls, hand in hand, 
 and speechless, as they realized that they were to be 
 sent into exile from their broad acres and the land they 
 
ANGELA OF ACADIA 57 
 
 loved. Both were too old ever to think of return; to 
 them it was forever. 
 
 In the gray dawn Angela sat, with strained eyes 
 watching the tide run in ; and later, the boats from the 
 waiting ships came looming up from the distance. 
 
 The confusion was indescribable : there was hurrying 
 crying, calling; the rushing of soldiers hither and yon. 
 driving the people to the waiting boats which were tc 
 carry them out to the ships. At length came their 
 turn. There was a hurried rush. Angela clung to her 
 grandfather's hand. But suddenly they were wrenched, 
 apart ; she was flung into one boat, — one of the last 
 to get in, — her grandfather into another, and the 
 Sieur with him. As they pushed off, they saw Michelle 
 weeping upon the shore. 
 
 Not until she stood alone upon the deck of the Three 
 Friends did Angela realize that all she loved in this 
 world were separated from her. 
 
 True, these Piziquid people were Aeadians and 
 would be kind to her. But whither was the ship 
 bound ? And who would give her a home in a strange 
 land? 
 
 II 
 
 On a country highway leading out of the city of 
 Philadelphia stood a quaint, gabled house. The lowest 
 story was directly upon the street, the gables overhung 
 it, and there was a wooden door in the center, flanked 
 by two wide, small-paned windows, wherein one might 
 discover rows of sweets, in jars with shining metal 
 covers. 
 
58 LADS AND LASSIES OF OTHER DATS 
 
 Within was a low-ceiled room with sanded floor and 
 low counters; a pair of brass scales, standing on one of 
 them, gleamed from much polishing and reflected sun- 
 light; boxes and barrels stood about in tidy groups; 
 and behind the counters there were well-furnished 
 shelves. Whenever a customer opened the door of the 
 shop, a small bell jingled sharply; and from a door 
 behind the counter, with answering promptness, ap- 
 peared sweet Mistress Folsom in her cap and kerchief, 
 or the shop-keeper's apprentice, or Mr. Folsom himself, 
 ready to serve customers. Mistress Folsom's particular 
 line of service lay in the haberdashery line, of which 
 the store had quite a department. Lying as it did upon 
 the highway which led into the open country, it had a 
 heavy rural trade on market days ; and no one had such 
 good taste, such winning sympathy, and such thrifty 
 notions of measurements as Mistress Folsom. 
 
 Back of the shop was the sitting room of the family 
 — an ample, cheery place, with its white-curtained 
 windows and spindle furniture, its flowers, its hearth 
 fire, and the dame's spinning wheel. But cheerier 
 than all these 'was the toddling, golden-haired, mis- 
 chievous family heir, Master Terence Folsom, aged 
 one and a half years, never so happy as when clinging 
 to his mother's skirts. 
 
 The burdens of keeping household order, presiding 
 over dress stuffs, spinning flax and wool for family use, 
 and keeping a sufficient surveillance of Master Terence 
 were too heavy for the shoulders of Mistress Folsom. 
 Hence it was that on a particular crisp morning in Sep- 
 tember, when Mr. Folsom announced that a frigate 
 
ANGELA OF ACADIA 59 
 
 from Southampton had arrived with merchandise, 
 Mistress Folsom announced that she would desire him 
 to bring to her a little serving-maid for Terence, one 
 Mistress Wooster having given her an address, with cer- 
 tain good recommendations. 
 
 Holding this errand in mind, Mr. Folsom had dis- 
 charged his duties concerning the merchandise and was 
 coming up a narrow lane of the ship district, when a 
 group of curiously clad people, timid, shrinking, and 
 terrified, surrounding a king's officer, caught his eye. 
 They, in turn, were partially surrounded by a ring of 
 Philadelphians ; and a lively conversation was in prog- 
 ress. 
 
 Mr. Folsom asked some questions and received quick 
 answers. They were Acadian neutrals — French inhabit- 
 ants of the English colony who, having been born there 
 under French rule, refused to submit to the rule of 
 England. Now, having been exiled to the loyal English 
 province of Pennsylvania, they were to be bound out, 
 as a means of teaching them submission.- 
 
 Mr. Folsom scarcely questioned English justice; but 
 being a man of generous heart, the sad, simple faces 
 of that peasant group touched him. The newcomers 
 were clinging timidly together — all but one. 
 
 That one was a slender, sad-faced maiden in kirtle 
 and cap who, with downcast eyes, stood all alone. So 
 delicate and slender was she, that the busy bargainers 
 for labor all about her scarcely noticed her. Across 
 the mind of Mr. Folsom flashed Mistress Folsom's need 
 of a maid. He moved to Angela and lifted her face to 
 view it. 
 
60 LADS AND LASSIES OF OTHER DATS 
 
 Instantly she read in his own its kindliness, and the 
 terror in her eyes gave place to a rush of tears. The 
 king's agent was glad to be rid of her, and Mr. Folsom 
 was glad to take her. 
 
 When the shop bell tinkled and Mistress Folsom 
 promptly stepped forth, her surprise at the sight of hsr 
 new maid 'justified a smile from Mr. Folsom. He ex- 
 plained, and with his explanation shades of feeling 
 i passed rapidly over Mistress Folsom's face; they cul- 
 minated in one look of burning indignation. 
 
 "Shame to the king!" she cried; "come here, you 
 poor lamb ! What outlandish shoes and clothes ! Have 
 you no kith nor kin? Poor lamb!" 
 
 She led Angela into the sitting room. There, in a 
 patch of sunlight, sat Terence at his daily amusement 
 of trying to catch sunbeams in his chubby little hands. 
 When he saw Angela, he rose unsteadily to his feet and 
 made straight, for her with open arms, a very unusual 
 performance for Terence, who heretofore had reserved 
 such warmth wholly for his mother. 
 
 Over Angela's wan face crept its first smile for many 
 a day. With a glad little cry she caught the baby 
 in her arms; his head nestled in her neck; his tight 
 embrace fairly choked her. 
 
 "Mind that, will you?" cried his amazed mother; 
 " the child goes to her at once. When she's been bathed, 
 and clothed in homespun, she'll be fairly pretty; her 
 queer English will improve with us, and, with her to 
 help me, I'll have a chance to breathe. Husband, I 
 can see at a glance the lass is well born. I'll be bound 
 she's better born than you or I, for all her strange gear. 
 
ANGELA OF ACADIA 
 
 61 
 
 I'm minded to let her live with us, as if she were, in a 
 manner, kin." 
 Angela was meanwhile caressing Terence. The little 
 
 "With a glad little cry she caught the baby in her arms." 
 
 heart, wearied to numbness by sorrow and cruel suffer- 
 ing, found its first consolation in Terence's baby love. 
 Mistress Folsom and her husband learned Angela's 
 story, bit by bit, with deepest pity for her. She clung 
 to the hope that she would hear yet of the whereabouts 
 
62 LADS AND LASSIES OF OTHER DATS 
 
 of Pierre and Michelle. They, for their part, thought 
 such hope quite useless. Many of the Acadians were 
 brought to Philadelphia, but few of them stayed in the 
 town proper. Farmers by birth, they went naturally 
 into the outlying districts. 
 
 More than a year passed. Angela, healthy, and con- 
 tented with her life, occasionally waited at the stuffs' 
 counter in Mistress Folsom's place. Customers liked 
 her sweet, accented English and her kindly ways. So 
 it was that on a winter's morning Mistress Folsom; at her 
 wheel, sent Angela into the shop when the bell tinkled. 
 An instant later she heard a wild glad cry. Running to 
 see what had happened, she found Angela wailing and 
 weeping and pouring forth Acadian French in the arms 
 of a stout, heavy woman, swathed in cloak, hood, and 
 mittens. It was Michelle. She had become the wife 
 of a prosperous farmer living a long distance from 
 Philadelphia, whither she seldom came. 
 
 Good Pierre Comeaux and the Sieur de la Fleur? 
 Ah, yes, Michelle knew well what had become of them. 
 Her husband had sought out the captain of their ships; 
 they had both died upon the voyage, unable, at their 
 advanced years, to endure its fearful hardships. 
 
 The sea covered them and was more merciful than the 
 land would have been. Angela accepted this news 
 meekly ; and her heart was at rest, since they were with 
 the good God. 
 
 And now Michelle was ^offering her home to little 
 Angela; would she not come to its shelter with her? 
 Angela turned. In Mistress Folsom's eyes stood the 
 tears; Terence clung to her skirt. 
 
ANGELA OF ACADIA 63 
 
 For an instant the eyes of the woman and the child 
 searched each other's face; then Angela, with a little 
 laugh and cry mingled together, wound her arms about 
 Mistress Folsom's neck, and Mistress Folsom clasped 
 her to her heart. Good Michelle understood. 
 
A WITCH HUNT IN CONCORD 
 
 In a green upland pasture three cows had been quietly 
 grazing throughout the sweet spring day. Now they 
 stood at the bars, switching their tails and gravely 
 waiting. A flock of crows in the tree tops were settling, 
 evidently for the night, uttering harsh, jarring cries to 
 one another. Halfway up the lane which led to the 
 pasture stood a tall, serious-faced lad with wide, fright- 
 ened eyes. He was staring at the crows and repeating 
 over and over again these words : — 
 
 " By the silver cross, 
 And the holy nail, 
 Witch, avaunt thee, 
 Turn tail ; 
 
 He rides with the Devil 
 Who rides with thee, 
 Out, witch, and set me free." 
 
 Alexander kept his two forefingers crossed as he 
 rattled over his rhyme; and presently, when the entire 
 flock of crows save one flew, cawing, deeper into the wood, 
 the tension of his face relaxed and he breathed a sigh 
 of relief. 
 
 Then he fixed his glance upon the solitary bird that 
 remained. For a few seconds the crow paused uncer- 
 tainly, flitting from branch to branch. Again, in clear 
 ringing tones, the strange rhyme startled the wood scill- 
 
 64 
 
A WITCH HUNT IN CONCORD 
 
 65 
 
 ness. The crow at length winged a flight across the 
 pasture and straight toward the stack of chimneys 
 which marked a little farmhouse lying snugly in its 
 circle of trees, a short way back from the old Boston 
 road. 
 
 As soon as the crow disappeared from sight, Alex- 
 ander let down the bars and followed the cows to the 
 
 'Alexander kept his two fingers crossed as he rattled 
 over his rhyme." 
 
 barn. He turned, them into the little milking paddock 
 just as his mother appeared at the gate of the chicken 
 yard; one hand held her apron bottom, bagged up into, 
 an ample pouch full of chicken corn. 
 
 "Alexander!" she called, in a smooth, soft voice 
 " come hither, son ! Your father has gone into Concord 
 town to ascertain the truth of the news that the regU' 
 
56 LADS AND LASSIES OF OTHER DAYS 
 
 lars are coming to Concord to destroy our powder stores. 
 You must do his chores this night as well as your own." 
 
 "Yes, mother," returned Alexander, absently, "I'll 
 call Patty to help with the milking." 
 
 The kitchen door at the side of the house stood half 
 open, this mild spring evening of the eighteenth of April. 
 Alexander paused before it an instant and looked in. 
 Reaching upward to the dresser for a platter, stood a 
 tiny, little old woman in spotless cap, beneath which 
 peeped her white bobbing curls. Alexander caught his 
 breath as he looked at her; he crossed his forefingers 
 hastily and ran around the house corner to the front 
 sitting-room door, which also stood half open. In front 
 of the fire his sister Patty stepped back and forth be- 
 fore her large spinning wheel. She was short and sturdy 
 in build; the rosy, healthy face, framed by the little 
 cap, was wholesome-looking and modest. 
 
 To Alexander's request that she help with the milking 
 she acceded willingly ; and the two entered the paddock 
 together, with their yokes and milking pails. 
 
 "Take Bess," said Alexander; "I'll milk Brindle 
 and Croppit." The warm milk fell streaming into the 
 pails, when — "Patty," called Alexander, softly, across 
 the paddock yard, "how long has Aunt Hannah been 
 in the kitchen?" 
 
 He suspended his work to wait for the answer. 
 
 " Only a very short time. She came in from her room 
 upstairs just as I began a new hank of wool. What ails 
 you, Alexander? The milk's flowing over the top of 
 your pail. Take the other." 
 
 Alexander finished his milking in silence and came out 
 
A WITCH SUNT IN GONCOBD 67 
 
 into the wagon yard, where Patty stood awaiting him. 
 Over the upland wood the moon was rising; through 
 the trees the kitchen firelight gleamed cheerfully; and 
 from the distance came the steady rhythm of croaking 
 frogs. 
 
 "Patty," whispered Alexander, "now I know of a 
 surety that our dear Aunt Hannah is a witch." 
 
 Patty uttered a little cry, and her milk yoke fell from 
 her shoulders. 
 
 "That cannot be, Alexander," she said sorrowfully. 
 
 "Ay, but it is so. It is even as Goody Mervin fears. 
 You know Aunt Hannah's grandmother was burnt as a 
 witch in Salem. 'Twas but half an hour ago I saw 
 Aunt Hannah herself, with six other witches, in the 
 pasture wood. They were in the shape of crows; I 
 used the witch rhyme Goody Mervin taught me, and 
 presently I saw Aunt Hannah fly homeward toward her 
 room." 
 
 Patty turned very white; she clung to her brother. 
 "It is a terrible thing to say, Alexander, a terrible thing. 
 Bethink you, brother, may you not be wrong?" 
 
 "Perhaps, Patty. But Goody Mervin has told me 
 many a witch f,ale, and I can see more signs whereby 
 Aunt Hannah is a witch than to prove she is not. I 
 must take Goody Mervin her pail of milk directly, and 
 then I'll get her advice in the matter. Bide out of the 
 house, Patty, till I come back." 
 
 They went to the milkhouse together, and Patty 
 prepared the can of milk for Goody Mervin. 
 
 "Go, Alexander," she whispered, "and I will wait 
 in the syringa bushes till you return. Oh, 'tis a fear- 
 
68 LADS AND LASSIES OF OTHER DAYS 
 
 some, fearsome thing to happen to us ! Think of all 
 the years Aunt Hannah has lived'with us! And now, 
 when she is an old, white-haired woman, the Devil has 
 come and gripped her! I'll never believe she_ went 
 over to him willingly; she's far too good and gentle 
 for that — I believe he just came, upon her from behind, 
 and gripped her; the same as the witches would have 
 gripped you to-night, had you not cast off their spell 
 with your rhyme. I've noted how sad Aunt Hannah 
 has been of late. Pray Goody to tell you a way to get 
 the Devil to release her. I'll bed the horses while you 
 are gone." 
 
 Alexander hurried down the main road, on which their 
 house stood, to a little side lane branching from it. It 
 was a narrow, lonely lane, very sweet this spring night 
 with the odor of newly upturned earth, and musical 
 with the song of the frogs. 
 
 To the left, under a lilac thicket, stood a low, brown 
 house with a steep, pitched roof. A light in one of its 
 window spaces gleamed out on the gray darkness like 
 a red eye. 
 
 Alexander felt his way along a foot-beaten path to 
 the front door. The lower half was closed, but the 
 upper wing stood open, and looking over it into the 
 room he saw Goody Mervin. She was stooping to 
 fling billets of wood upon an already roaring fire. She 
 was a strange little figure. From beneath a cap of 
 almost monstrous proportions peered a thin, wizened 
 little face, with sharp, ferretlike eyes. She was bent 
 almost to a right angle with deformity, and a wig fell 
 in a double row of false curls beneath her cap to her 
 shoulders. 
 
A WITCH HUNT IN CONCOBD 69 
 
 The room was in singular disorder; everything in it 
 was scrupulously clean, but in a state of complete 
 topsy-turvydom. Upon the top of a tall, mahogany 
 dresser, with gleaming brass knobs which twinkled in 
 the firelight, sat a large rag doll. This doll was Goody 
 Mervin's chosen confidante and companion, and the 
 only other inmate of the queer little home. 
 
 Alexander coughed softly to make his presence 
 known. Goody turned about with a sharp, "Oh, 
 'tis you, Alexander. Come in, lad. Jane and I have 
 been a bit lonesome, haven't we, Jane?" she said, 
 addressing the rag doll; "I hear there's talk of a rising 
 against the British. 'Tis time, too; 'tis time. But 
 mark me, Alexander, — put the pail of milk on the table, 
 lad, — 'twill be a war. Ay, 'twill be a. war. You're 
 a tall, well-grown lad, Alexander; belike you can 
 crack a shot at them, eh, son? 'Twill be better than 
 shooting partridge. What ails the lad this night?" 
 she cried suddenly, taking a limping step forward and 
 peering up into his face. "Your eyes are as solemn 
 as a parson's. What's out with you, boy?" 
 
 Alexander poured forth his story. As Goody listened, 
 she hung a kettle upon the crane and slowly stirred 
 some porridge in it. Her little ferret eyes again and 
 again sought Alexander's face with an anxious look. 
 " Belike now, Alexander, you're oversure. 'Tis true 
 I've seen witches in my day, and 'tis true Hannah's 
 grandmother was burned for one at Salem; but before 
 we can say to a certainty that Hannah's a witch, we 
 must put it to the proof. If she's a witch, what you 
 saw this night was a witches' cheery. They were 
 
70 LADS AND LASSIES OF OTHER DAYS 
 
 hobnobbing together to go off somewhere for a mid- 
 night ride. You must bide up till midnight and watch; 
 at that time, if Hannah's a witch, she'll come out and 
 bestride her broomstick. As she strides it, you'll hear 
 her mutter : — 
 
 " Over the hills and far away, 
 To ride with the Devil, till break of day." 
 
 Now before she can finish this and send the broomstick 
 flying high into the air, you must grasp one end of the 
 broom, and Patty the other. Say the witch-rhyme 
 quickly, and the Devil will leave her. But if at mid- 
 night she's asleep in her bed, belike it was just crows 
 you saw, Alexander, just crows." 
 
 Alexander's face had grown very pale and set. Goody 
 poured the milk into a jar, and he reached his hand for 
 the empty pail. 
 
 "I'll bide up to watch her," he said sadly; " 'tis a 
 sore thing to have one you love as we love Aunt Hannah 
 witched by the Evil One. Patty and I will do our best 
 to save her." 
 
 He started down the pathway. "Tie a horseshoe to 
 the broomstick," the old woman called shrilly after 
 him; but Alexander's long legs were already flying 
 with him far down the lane. 
 
 The little homestead, glowing with fire and candle 
 light, looked warm and friendly after the shadowy 
 road. He ran up the orchard path to the kitchen door. 
 Aunt Hannah, with a sweet and placid expression of 
 face, was frying flapjacks over the fire. In the chimney 
 nook sat his father cleaning a musket; his mother 
 walked at her spinning wheel. 
 
A WITCH HUNT IN CONCORD 71 
 
 Patty crept up to him on the porch. With his arm 
 about her, he drew her down into the shelter of the 
 syringa bush beside the door and rapidly whispered 
 his plan into her unwilling ears. 
 
 "I'm afraid of witches," she murmured, clinging to 
 him; "no, no, I can't do it." 
 
 "Fie upon you, Patty! Will you let the Evil One 
 keep dear Aunt Hannah because you are afraid?" 
 
 Patty was silent. Alexander shifted his attack. 
 
 "All right, Patty. Let us go in to supper. She 
 does not deserve to be saved, for letting the Devil get 
 hold of her." 
 
 "I'll do it," suddenly decided Patty; "I'll do it, 
 Alexander; but oh, I am mortally afraid!" 
 
 Aunt Hannah appeared at this instant in the fireshine 
 of the doorway. 
 
 "Come, children," called her cheery voice; "where 
 are you dawdling? Supper is ready." 
 
 Alexander ate a hearty supper, but Patty scarcely 
 touched her food. 
 
 The father sat unusually silent; the mother looked 
 at him from time to time, her eyes filling with tears. 
 After the meal the father and the mother again talked 
 softly together, and Patty helped Aunt Hannah with 
 her work. When, at length, the kindly old woman 
 lighted Patty's bedroom candle and handed it to her, 
 Patty, ashamed of her suspicions, took it and fled, 
 without the usual goodnight kisses. 
 
 It was a warm night for the time of year. Setting 
 the candlestick upon her dresser, she pushed back the 
 window curtain and leaned out over the sill. The 
 
72 LADS AND LASSIES OF OTHER DATS 
 
 peaceful country landscape was flooded with moonlight ; 
 the garden lay beneath her in a wonderland of light 
 and shadow ; in the distance the frogs still croaked. 
 
 As she turned over in her thoughts her part in the 
 attempt to hinder Aunt Hannah's witch ride, her heart 
 thumped so hard that Alexander's light knock upon the 
 door sent it up into her throat with a bound. 
 
 He lifted her latch quietly; coming across the room, 
 he drew Patty down beside him upon the window seat 
 and unfolded his plan. 
 
 "A little before midnight I shall knock at your door. 
 Rise and dress quickly. Then slip into Aunt Hannah's 
 room and see if she be lying in her bed. I shall wait 
 for you at the stair's foot. If she be there, roll a ball 
 of yarn downward to me, and lay your length close 
 along her doorsill, where she must assuredly tumble 
 over you in coming out. I will then run outside and 
 keep watch under her window ; but if her bed be empty 
 when you reach her room, Patty, hurry at once to me. 
 We -will wrap up warmly and sit in the arbor together 
 and await her return. When she alights, we can seize 
 the handle and brush of her broom, and I will say the 
 witch-rhyme ; in either case, we must save her." 
 
 Patty's cheeks were a feverish scarlet and her eyes 
 unnaturally bright. The words again rushed to her 
 lips, "Alexander, I cannot;" but she looked at his 
 hopeful, earnest face, and they remained unspoken. He 
 left the room, and she blew out her candle and went to 
 bed. For a long time she lay trembling and listen- 
 ing to every sound. At length, a long time after she 
 had lain down, she fell asleep. She was awakened by 
 
A. WITCH HUNT IN CONCORD 73 
 
 a rude shaking of her shoulder and the light touch of 
 a hand held over her lips. It was Alexander, none too 
 pleased with her total obliviousness to his repeated 
 knocks. "I'll be at the foot of the stairs," he whis- 
 pered; "make haste." 
 
 She flung on her clothes and groped in terror along 
 the hallway barred with misty moonlight shadows. 
 Quaking and trembling with fear, she lifted the latch 
 of the door, stole over to Aunt Hannah's bed, and put 
 her hand upon it: it was empty. 
 
 Alexander, waiting for the ball of yarn, was startled 
 to feel Patty fall into his arms instead ; she was sobbing 
 softly with relief, that she need not immediately face 
 the Devil. Alexander, on the contrary, was greatly 
 disappointed ; he had nerved himself for a fine, hand- 
 to-hand fight with the Evil One. 
 
 Together they tiptoed into the garden and down its 
 walks to the tea arbor, smelling sweetly from a sur- 
 rounding thicket of boxwood. It was damp and 
 chilly and very still. The moon had passed the zenith, 
 and its pale light made every shadow sinister and 
 ghostly. Now and then a rooster crowed shrilly from 
 a barnyard, and another answered. Patty crept close 
 to Alexander and, half dozing, leaned her head upon 
 his shoulder. Half an hour of dismal, nervous waiting 
 passed. Alexander kept his watch fixed upon the dis- 
 tant wood and the sky. It was in those directions 
 that he looked for the return of Aunt Hannah. 
 
 Patty's drowsy eyes, fixed on the garden paths, sud- 
 denly became aware of something which caused her to 
 clutch Alexander's arm and sit up, broad awake. " Oh, 
 
74 LADS AND LASSIES OF OTHER DATS 
 
 look, brother," she whispered. She pointed down the 
 garden way, where, at its very foot, beside a clump of 
 quince bushes, the smokehouse stood. The winter 
 meats had long since been cured and taken from its 
 grimy depths; yet now a thin curl of smoke rose up- 
 ward from its roof, and a line of red light, where the 
 door stood ajar, denoted a fire within. 
 
 Alexander gasped and held Patty tight. "'Tis 
 worse than I feared," he said; "'tis a witches' pot. 
 They are in there, Patty, sitting about a caldron,* 
 brewing I know not what. See the light flare and 
 flicker!" 
 
 Patty began to sob. "Let me go to mother," she 
 cried. "I'm feared to my very soul, Alexander; I'll 
 die if you take me yonder." 
 
 Alexander gently released her and started off, alone 
 down the garden path. In an instant Patty caught 
 up to him and gripped tight hold of his arm. Her 
 teeth were chattering with fright, but she said, "Nay, 
 Alexander, you shall not go alone there to be witched, j 
 Tell me what to do." 
 
 They drew near to the smokehouse. Alexander 
 paused and listened; a low murmur of voices came 
 through the door. He left Patty under a quince bush 
 and crept close; the murmur now became articulate 
 sounds. Alexander placed his ear against a crack in 
 the side of the house too narrow for the eye. 
 
 "You're a great help to me, Goody Mervin, and 
 glad am I I sent for ye." 
 
 He experienced a sudden and terrible shock. Goody 
 Mervin, then,, was a witch also. With, a flush of wrath, 
 
" Nay, Alexander, you shall not go alone there to be witched." 
 
A WITCH HUNT IN CONCORD 77 
 
 upon his face born of the duplicity Goody Mervin had 
 practiced upon him, he made one stride to the door, 
 intending to jerk it open; hesitating, he first peeped in. 
 
 Over a lively fire, crackling and glowing, bent the 
 figures of Goody Mervin and Aunt Hannah. A pot of 
 liquid bubbled over it. Goody Mervin held in her hand 
 a long-handled ladle, out of which she poured a thick, 
 grayish-looking mass into a receptacle steadied by 
 Aunt Hannah. 
 
 "Alexander usually makes his father's bullets," con- 
 tinued Aunt Hannah's sweet old voice, "and I do not 
 know much of the process; therefore I sent for ye, 
 Goody Mervin. I want the lad and his father to go 
 with well-filled pouches when the time comes; and I 
 think with yourself 'tis very near." 
 
 The wrath in Alexander's face gave place to a look 
 of shame, of chagrin; and then a deep relief swept all 
 else before it. He was about turning back to Patty, 
 when Patty, who had been watching him with growing 
 fear and anguish from her place under the quince bush, 
 now rushed up and with wild hands pulled and hauled 
 him from the door, crying, "Come away, Alexander; 
 they're witching you, they're witching you!" 
 
 Alexander was both surprised and alarmed at the 
 sudden onslaught. He lost his balance and fell up 
 against the smokehouse door, and both children tumbled 
 headlong into the place. The old dames were thor- 
 oughly frightened; and a combined wail rent the night 
 air, while the hot drops from the mold spilled and 
 hissed in the fire. Patty clung with violent sobs to 
 Aunt Hannah, imploring her to say that she was not a 
 
78 LADS AND LASSIES OF OTHER DATS 
 
 witch; and Aunt Hannah, with a succession of pats, 
 administered partly to soothe and partly to punish her, 
 assured her rather tartly that she was nothing of the sort. 
 
 Alexander faced Goody Mervin. She lifted shamed 
 eyes to his indignant, scornful glance, reading there 
 that his faith in her had been suddenly swept away. In 
 so humble a voice that he was completely disarmed 
 and forgave her instantly, she said, "It was a mistake, 
 Alexander, and a wrong to that good, faithful woman. 
 I have confessed the whole story to her, and she has 
 forgiven me. Can't you do the like?" 
 
 Alexander glanced sheepishly at Patty. Under 
 Aunt Hannah's soothing, convincing jerks all her witch 
 terrors had subsided; and she now threw a look of 
 hearty scorn at her brother. 
 
 "Muddlepate!" she said. Turning coldly away 
 from him, she kilted up her skirts and prepared to 
 assist at the bullet-making. 
 
 A half hour flew by unheeded. When Alexander's 
 ready skill was applied to the manufacture of bullets, 
 the work sped along. As Patty stepped forth into the 
 open air with a mold of cooled bullets, the moonlight 
 was waning. 
 
 A sound caught her ear — the far-away, rhythmic, 
 steady beat of a horse's hoofs. It arose from the direc- 
 tion of Lexington; and as she paused to listen, a rider 
 came into sight, spurring his horse and fairly flying 
 past bushes and trees through the quiet night. Her 
 father's casement rattled open; there was a call and a 
 reply ; and away sped rider and horse in the direction of 
 the town. Patty understood the message well; it 
 
A WITCH HUNT IN CONCORD 79 
 
 came from Boston; the British were coming to Con- 
 cord ; there would be a fight. Fear again leapt into her 
 eyes and stirred her heart to heavy throbbing. She 
 knew that her father and Alexander would take up 
 arms; they were minutemen. Tears dimmed her 
 eyes as she knelt and mechanically sorted the bullets; 
 then with a brave face she reentered the smokehouse. 
 The women were busy at their talk and had heard 
 neither horseman nor message. Patty did not tell 
 them; she knew that but one word would send Alex- 
 ander flying for his musket and shot bag, and for a 
 few moments longer she wanted him there beside her, 
 as he had always been. 
 
 And then, in another way, the message came to them 
 all. "Hark!" cried Goody Mervin, "a sound!" 
 They listened. Through the deep stillness of the early 
 dawn, steady, mournful, insistent, rang out the Concord 
 church bell. It was the call to the minutemen. 
 
 Alexander rose to his feet; his face blanched for an 
 instant; like Patty, his first thought was not for him- 
 self — his was for his mother. Then to the boyish face 
 came suddenly that look of final resolution, of splendid 
 courage, which armed many a minuteman rushing 
 from the plow to the fight with a valor more irresist- 
 ible than the strength of the British arms. 
 
 Goody and Aunt Hannah hurried to the house. Alex- 
 ander started to follow. 
 
 "Are you going?" faltered Patty, detaining him. 
 
 "Aye, I'm going," he replied sturdily. 
 
 "Then let me clean your flintlock," she said, and 
 fled up the garden path to hide her welling tears. 
 
80 LADS AND LASSIES OF OTHER DAYS 
 
 By candlelight there was a hurried breakfast. After 
 it the father, not as usual opening the Bible, stood by 
 the fireplace, musket in hand, and repeated in his sono- 
 rous tones the Twenty-third Psalm. They all knelt 
 and said the Lord's Prayer together. Patty and the 
 mother, clinging to each other, felt all the terrors of 
 the Valley of the Shadow of Death for these dear ones 
 going forth to enter it. There were quick, silent em- 
 braces; and down the road, shoulder to shoulder, 
 side by side, went father and son to the meeting place 
 of the minutemen. 
 
 Patty watched them out of sight. Her eyes burned 
 with sleeplessness and weeping. She reentered the 
 sitting room. Beside the fire, by her father's chair, 
 her mother knelt in prayer. Patty knew that she 
 would wish to be alone, and with light steps she stole 
 into the kitchen. Aunt Hannah and Goody Mervin 
 were collecting the family valuables, preparatory to 
 hiding them away from the eyes of marauding soldiery. 
 
 Patty and soon the mother also joined them in this 
 task. The soft light of early morning fell upon the 
 scene; birds sung and twittered in the orchard trees. 
 As Patty came down the garret stairs, their big Cochin 
 China rooster stepped up to the doorsill and sent forth 
 a lusty crow. She laughed in spite of herself. 
 
 "Poor old Billy Bill," she said; "mother has clean 
 forgotten your flock ; and the cows are still in the pad- 
 dock." She caught up the bag of corn and ran to do 
 the chores. 
 
 Up the little lane she drove the cows, just as the 
 rising sunbeams fell over the land, on that morning of 
 
A WITCH HUNT IN CONCORD 81 
 
 the nineteenth of April. Patty had put up the bars and 
 turned to descend the hill, when her 'ears caught a 
 sound; the roll of the drum and the shrill squeak of 
 fifing mingled together across the sharp morning air, 
 and the redcoats appeared in sight, coming over the 
 brow of a hill. 
 
 She flew downward to the house and sought her 
 mother in the sitting room. 
 
 On came the heavy tramp of soldier feet and the 
 insolent rhythm of fife and drum, to the tune of Yankee 
 Doodle. 
 
 Patty peeped through the honeysuckle vine. Far 
 up the road gleamed a mass of red, moving steadily 
 from clump to clump of wayside thickets, nearer and 
 nearer. Past the gateway they swung, proud and 
 confident; and still they were coming over the hill. 
 
 She thought swiftly of her father and Alexander and 
 the little untrained band of Concord farmers; what 
 strength or knowledge had they to resist this glittering 
 British phalanx of eight hundred well-armed regulars? 
 The last file marched by, leaving only a cloud of dust 
 behind them. But from the instant when Major 
 Pitcairn on his prancing horse had passed their lilac 
 bush, to that when the last line of dapper red jackets 
 filed by, a light had leaped into. Patty's eyes, and a 
 prayer unphrased had risen in her heart — no longer 
 for her father's and her brother's safety; it was the 
 first heart throb for her country — a prayer that the men 
 in the town might win, even against such awful odds. 
 
 Colonel Barrett had ordered the militia to retire from 
 the advance of the regulars, over 'the North Bridge to 
 
82 LADS AND LASSIES OF OTHER DAYS 
 
 Punkatasset Hill, a mile and a half from Concord center. 
 As they reached the hill, a column of the enemy was 
 seen advancing from the village. 
 
 There on the hill, among the minutemen, Alexander 
 leaned against a tree, and. with quickened heart and 
 tight-set lips impatiently waited the orders for -action. 
 At length Colonel Barrett came riding up; an attack 
 was decided upon. The little patriot band received 
 the command to march to North Bridge and pass it, 
 but not to fire on the king's troops unless the latter 
 fired upon them. They set off, marching in double 
 file, with trailed arms, Alexander beside his father. 
 
 The British retreated across the bridge and began to 
 pull up its planks as the minutemen came into the 
 river road. Their leader shouted to them to desist, 
 and hastened the march of his men. When the head of 
 the American column had almost reached the turn 
 where the road led toward the bridge, there was a sharp 
 crack, and a rifle shot came singing through the air 
 over Alexander's head and lodged itself in a tree. 
 
 He paled for an instant and then looked up into his 
 father's face with a quick, brave smile. Several other 
 shots followed, wounding no one. At length there 
 came a discharge that felled three of their men. When 
 their leader saw them fall, he cried in a ringing tone, 
 "Fire, fellow-soldiers! For God's sake, fire!" 
 
 Alexander, with the blood rushing to his head, dropped 
 to his knee and took aim; and his shot sped with the 
 others of that first American volley, across the quiet 
 river and into the ranks of the regulars. Several red- 
 coats fell. Then the "heat of battle fired the Americans, 
 
A WITCH HUNT IN CONCORD 83 
 
 and for a few moments the rain of their bullets cut the 
 April air. 
 
 The British fell back from the bridge; they began to 
 retreat toward the town. The Americans crossed the 
 bridge, but did not follow the flying British line. 
 
 Patty had spent the morning at her spinning, and 
 bad, bungling spinning it had proved. The father's 
 last words were that on no account should the women 
 leave the house. The hours had dragged by, and no 
 news of any sort had come to them of what was occurring 
 in the village. 
 
 A little after noon, as she ran to the gate of the gar- 
 den to strain her eyes down the sunlit road in the hope 
 of seeing a messenger, Patty heard the faint, sharp 
 rattle of musketry and the echoes of the grim conflict 
 at Merriam's Corner. Later the British came up the 
 road, no longer in spruce, regular lines, with insolent 
 high looks. They came now in broken, weary files, 
 covered with dust and powder, grumbling, stumbling, 
 some swearing; and Patty fled in terror to the house. 
 The place was unmolested, as the retreating ranks came 
 by, save that one redcoat, tired and disheveled, unlatched 
 their gate and strode toward the well for a drink of 
 water. 
 
 He was a kindly-looking, blue-eyed boy of perhaps 
 two and twenty, and his condition was piteous; when 
 he reached the well-curb, he found neither cup nor bucket. 
 
 Without a word he was turning toward the road again, 
 when Aunt Hannah hurried out to him with a brimming 
 bowl of cool water and a hunch of good bread. 
 
 "Here, poor lad," she said briefly, "eat and drink. 
 
84 LADS AND LASSIES OF OTHER DAYS 
 
 Our lad's in the opposite ranks, but we're all human." 
 The soldier thanked her, drained the cup of water, 
 took the bread, and passed on. 
 
 Later in the afternoon, as Patty was again at her 
 spinning, a shadow fell across the doorway, and Alex- 
 ander stood before her. He was covered with dust, 
 grimed with powder ; his eyes were dark-circled and 
 tired; but in them lay a new look, a new thought, and 
 a joy which is the joy of a soldier who has won his first 
 victory. Patty sprang to him, but he caught and held 
 her from him, laughing. "Nay," he said, "don't 
 come nigh me till I'm cleaned. Get me a bowl of bread 
 and milk, Patty, and some water to wash in. God be 
 thanked, dear, the redcoats know at .last that we do not 
 fear them. 'Twas their doing; they fired first." 
 
 There was a happy bustling in the old kitchen ; Patty 
 and the mother laid out clean clothing and a bountiful 
 supply of soap and water for their heroes returned; 
 Aunt Hannah stirred and cooked flapjacks. Over and 
 over, father and son recounted the events of the day. 
 The sun slipped, unheeded, low into the west. 
 
 At length Patty pulled down her green calash from 
 its nail and prepared to start for the cow pasture. " Nay, 
 nay," she said, refusing Alexander's offer to go; "the 
 milking is for father and you to-night. I'll bring the 
 cows. But tell me, Alexander," she continued mis- 
 chievously, dallying in the doorway, "what shall I say 
 if I see the crows? I do not know your rhyme." 
 
 "Say," he replied, "that the little fool who spit 
 rhymes at them last eventide spit bullets to-day at cer- 
 tain red crows in the neighborhood, and to a much 
 better purpose." 
 
THE SILVER WEDDING OF UNCLE GIDEON 
 
 When Aunt Tabitha Cushing decided to celebrate 
 her silver wedding in an appropriate fashion, she wrote 
 all the invitations to the many members of the family 
 before she broke the news to Uncle Gideon. The 
 question of messengers to carry these biddings to the 
 various Cushing and Hooper relatives — Aunt Tabitha 
 was a Hooper — who lived in and outside of Philadel- 
 phia, compelled her to seek Uncle Gideon; he was 
 at the far end of the garden, thinning a bed of poppies. 
 
 It was upon a Friday, in the cool of the evening of 
 the seventh day of June, 1776, that Aunt Tabitha in 
 stately fashion marched- down the garden paths to 
 the place where Uncle Gideon in his shirt sleeves bent 
 over his flowers. 
 
 She at once set forth, in an elaborate speech, a review 
 of their happy married life, their early poverty, their 
 present wealth, and her desire, since the Lord had 
 given them no children, to gather about them, upon 
 this coming twenty-fifth anniversary of their wedding 
 day, all their near relatives with their children and 
 children's children. Aunt Tabitha had a certain slow 
 manner and a precision of speech upon which she prided 
 herself. 
 
 Uncle Gideon stood upright and heard her out with 
 respect; his handsome face was troubled. 
 
 85 
 
86 LADS AND LASSIES OF OTHER DATS 
 
 "Good wife," he said absently, "and what day have 
 you set for this rejoicing?" 
 
 "Mercy to us," cried Aunt Tabitha, impatiently 
 and in quite another voice; "gather your wits together, 
 Gideon Cushing! Do you forget the date of your own 
 wedding, the eighth day of July, 1751 ? " 
 
 "No, dear wife," he returned, "but my thoughts are 
 very busy. The Congress is to-day debating a most 
 serious question, and if it be passed — " 
 
 "Ever and ever politics," wailed Aunt Tabitha. 
 "The king is good enough for me. To have every- 
 thing from London in latest fashion and mode is far 
 better than this senseless rampaging to flout his Maj- 
 esty's will. You will see ; we shall be whipped for our 
 sauciness like a parcel of children." 
 
 Uncle Gideon's sweet look clouded under Aunt 
 Tabitha's foolish words. 'Twas the one point whereon 
 they disagreed; she was a hearty lover of royalty and 
 a loyal, tinreasoning adherent to ancient customs, after 
 the manner of her up-bringing. Uncle Gideon, one 
 of the foremost citizens of Philadelphia, was heart and 
 soul with the spirit of his day, which opposed the tyr- 
 anny of the king and looked toward independence. The 
 celebration of his own silver wedding was a trifle to 
 him, compared with that burning question as to whether 
 the Congress, now sitting, would definitely sever the 
 relations of the colonies with England. 
 
 "You may have your celebration," he said gently; 
 "what can I do for its furtherance?" 
 
 Thereupon Aunt Tabitha launched forth upon mis- 
 sives and messengers, and by what posts, or by what 
 
THE SILVER WEDDING OF UNCLE GIDEON 87 
 
 riders her invitations should be sent. It was here 
 that I, Hiram Gushing, aged seventeen, was summoned 
 to rise from my knees, where I had been silently pulling 
 poppies, to receive my delegation as messenger to the 
 home of my name-uncle, Hiram Cushing. He lived 
 upon a broad farmstead, many miles distant from 
 Philadelphia. My own father had died in London; 
 my mother still lived there; but I, at my father's 
 death, had been sent to my uncle Gideon and by him 
 most carefully reared. 
 
 To carry so gay a message to so desirable a place 
 as my Uncle Hiram's made me flush with pleasure. 
 My Aunt Tabitha's home was large and commodious, 
 a noble mansion lying white, formal, and austere in a 
 riotous, blooming garden of several acres. The house 
 was all Aunt Tabitha; the garden all Uncle Gideon. 
 The stiff and stately formalities of my aunt's house 
 tired me greatly. But to go to Brownmede, where 
 lived a host of lads and lassies, the children of my dear 
 Uncle Hiram and Aunt Agatha, where lived Grand- 
 father Cushing, where trilled the gay laughter of saucy 
 Cousin Betsey — 
 
 "When shall I set forth?" I demanded eagerly. 
 
 And Uncle Gideon with a quiet smile answered, 
 "This day week." 
 
 I thought the day would never arrive. Aunt Tabitha 
 kept me, as well as every one about her, fetching and 
 carrying for her; the great house, soon to be overrun- 
 ning with guests, must be swept and garnished from the 
 cupola to the porch stairs and the mounting blocks. I 
 was weary of it all. Uncle Gideon was but little at home. 
 
88 LADS AND LASSIES OF OTHER DATS 
 
 At length the day came. My uncle, being absent or 
 business at the Philosophical Society, left word that I 
 might select my own horse and gear and stop to take 
 leave of him as I came by the State House. I selected 
 a saddle with a pillion, whereupon Humphrey, the 
 old servant who was to accompany me, smiled. 
 
 When at last I had my aunt's sealed letters in my 
 jacket pocket and had received her last instructions 
 and her little peck of a kiss upon my forehead, I clat- 
 tered smartly down the avenue and set my face toward 
 Brownmede. There was but the halt to take leave 
 of my uncle, and then for a canter through lane and 
 highway ! 
 
 I rode down toward the State House. The old bell 
 in the tower clanged the hour of nine. Riding up to 
 the entrance of the State House Yard, I threw rein to 
 Humphrey and ran across the great square, radiant 
 this morning with sunshine, its sweet silence broken 
 here and there by a bird note dropping from the leafage 
 of the trees. Near the observatory, beneath its little 
 balcony, I saw my uncle among a group of several 
 other gentlemen. At sight of him I broke from my 
 gallop of haste into a respectful pace, and then, hat 
 in hand, awaited his advance as he came forward to 
 meet me. 
 
 He offered kindly words of advice and instruction 
 and said finally: "Tell your grandfather that, if he be 
 able, I desire him to undertake this journey; not to 
 be present at your Aunt Tabitha's silver wedding so 
 much as to see at my side the great deliverance which 
 is surely coming to the colonies. Within there, lad, they 
 
THE SILVEB WEDDING OF UNCLE GIDEON 89 
 
 are framing our Declaration of Independence. Say to my 
 father that I desire greatly his future counsels." With 
 these words and a kiss upon my forehead, he let me go. 
 
 We lay that night at a little tavern in the village 
 of North Wales. Early next morning we were in the 
 saddle, and by six o'clock in the afternoon I saw the 
 gables and chimney stacks of Brownmede. The sight 
 of the old house-place, surrounded by its f amiliar willows, 
 the group of barns, the broad cattle paddocks, the 
 homely clatter of hens, ducks, and geese, set my heart 
 fairly bumping with joy. -I flung myself from the 
 saddle, gave the horse to Humphrey, and ran eagerly 
 to the east garden, where, among lilies and hollyhocks, 
 I knew I should find Aunt Agatha and the lassies 
 drinking tea. 
 
 To be sure, there they were, — Betsey, Patty, and 
 Jean, — with dear Aunt Agatha, who, when she saw me, 
 gave a cry and folded me to her heart with kiss upon 
 kiss of warm welcome, demanding the while, "Is aught 
 amiss in Philadelphia?" 
 
 "La, now," laughed Betsey, dancing about me as I 
 delivered Aunt's packet, "you are grown a great gal- 
 lant, sweet Cousin Firefly. You make me fear you, 
 you do indeed, with your stately looks;" and to prove 
 it she saucily pulled my nose. 
 
 "Let him be," said sober Jean. "You'd tease the 
 king's officer, Bess. Is't good news, Patty?" 
 
 Patty, upon a stool, was reading Aunt Tabitha's 
 letter over her mother's shoulder. Evidently, from 
 her impatient frown, there was a long preamble. But 
 at length the point was reached; for with a squeal of 
 
90 LADS AND LASSIES OF OTHER DATS 
 
 delight, she suddenly jumped from the bench, caught 
 up her skirts, and fell to dancing such a jig as made 
 her ringlets bob jauntily. 
 
 "Tell us, mother," cried the other two; and with the 
 bidding to the silver wedding, the actual prospect of 
 a trip to Philadelphia, came such tempestuous rejoic- 
 ing that none of us heard the thud of a cane till our 
 grandfather stood in our midst. The lassies ducked 
 hasty curtseys; I fell on one knee and reverently kissed 
 his hand. 
 
 "Lad," he said in a gentle, sweet voice, "I bid thee 
 welcome. Thou comest no doubt with word from son 
 Gideon to me. A message from daughter-in-law Tab- 
 itha hath already been delivered, as witnesseth this 
 mad prancing. Come, lad, my son Gideon knows 
 his father's heart. What message sent he to me?" 
 
 I delivered it most carefully and deliberately. Grand- 
 father's faded blue eyes kindled, and then swam with 
 tears. 
 
 "I am too old," he said, "to offer my own life for 
 my country; but if I could give it, lad, I would this 
 day most sincerely thank God." 
 
 We two stood by the old sundial. The last shadow 
 of a vanishing day lay upon it. The laughter of the 
 chattering lassies rang in my ears; then it receded and 
 I noticed it no longer, but fixed my gaze upon a tall 
 lily which grew over the foot of the dial; and with 
 Grandfather's hand upon my shoulder then too van- 
 ished the last hour of a care-free, heedless youth. My 
 thoughts henceforth belonged to his thoughts and 
 Uncle Gideon's and Uncle Hiram's. 
 
THE SILVER WEDDING OF UNCLE GIDEON 91 
 
 My Uncle Hiram and his tall sons, my cousins Joshua, 
 Laban, and Dennis, came in from the fields a little later 
 and greeted me warmly. In the dining room, with 
 its long, open casement, into which the hollyhocks 
 peeped, the table was laid for the supper. A light 
 fire of splinters sputtered on the hearth; and before 
 it, lads and men, we held earnest converse as to the 
 situation in Philadelphia. 
 
 In the adjacent sitting room the women had pushed 
 spinning wheels aside, and there was a scurrying to 
 and fro, upstairs and 
 down. Press lids were 
 hastily slammed; band- 
 boxes, gayly flowered, 
 with yawning tops, oc- 
 cupied the center of the 
 room; and a babel of 
 talk as to women's fuss 
 and feathers for Aunt 
 Tabitha's party put 
 every other concern 
 out of sight. It was a 
 momentous occasion. 
 
 I slept that night 
 in a long, low, white- 
 washed room, where in a row, with wide-curtained win- 
 dows between, and roses peeping in, stood the narrow 
 beds of my cousins. All our talk was of the colonies' 
 independence; and all our hope that we might fight 
 to maintain it, once it should be declared. 
 
 Two weeks slipped by at Brownmede. Lying as it 
 
 'We two stood by the old 
 
 SUNDIAL." 
 
92 LADS AND LASSIES OF OTHER DATS 
 
 did at a considerable distance from the highway, scant 
 news of any sort reached us. I went with my cousins 
 about their daily tasks, while Aunt Agatha and the 
 lassies transformed the sober house into a regular Vanity 
 Fair. There were, too, long hours of that fortnight 
 spent with my grandfather, while he recounted stories 
 
 "Betsey rode upon my pillion." 
 
 of his early fights with Indians and of Pennsylvania's 
 resistance to the oppression of England in earlier days, 
 when our liberties and rights were threatened. 
 
 At length came the day of departure for Philadelphia, 
 and our cavalcade was ready. Betsey rode upon my 
 pillion; and a gay and sorry time her mischievous 
 pranks led me, albeit I was more glad than not to 
 have her company. Late of a Sunday afternoon we 
 
THE SILVER WEDDING OF UNCLE GIDEON 93 
 
 soberly entered Philadelphia, and in the gray of the 
 twilight we rode through its quiet streets to the gates 
 of my uncle's residence. Grandfather entered first; 
 next came Uncle Hiram with Aunt Agatha; and then 
 the medley group of us lads and lassies, governed by 
 Humphrey. 
 
 My Aunt Tabitha, stiff in brocaded silk and rich laces, 
 came forward with my Uncle Gideon to receive us; 
 to Grandfather she made a low and stately curtsey. 
 He, with Uncle Gideon and Uncle Hiram, after greet- 
 ing her suitably, hurried into the house. 
 
 We lads fairly pulled the lassies from the saddles; 
 our horses disappeared in the direction of the stables. 
 The great house glowed with candles and rustled with 
 guests; Aunt Tabitha cordially received Aunt Agatha 
 and the lassies. Joshua, Laban, and Dennis stood near 
 me ; tall, well-knit, and sturdy lads though they were, 
 they appeared a trifle awkward here, for they were not 
 accustomed to Aunt Tabitha's perfumed elegance. 
 
 "Come," cried I, and led the way. I strode down the 
 hallway and stopped outside the great mahogany door 
 which opened into Uncle Gideon's suite of offices. 
 Within we heard a low, earnest sound of voices, and' 
 straightway I rapped. 
 
 My Uncle Gideon opened to us; his face was shining 
 and cheerful. "Enter," he cried heartily; "lads, 
 they've done it ! 'Twas done on the fourth day of this 
 month! You will hear it publicly proclaimed to- 
 morrow. Congress has passed the Declaration of 
 Independence ! The colonies have thrown over the 
 king! To-morrow, to-morrow, by the grace of God, 
 
94 LADS AND LASSIES OF OTHER DATS 
 
 you shall hear read, in the State House Yard, that 
 blessed document which proclaims our rights and 
 frees our soil from oppression." 
 
 "Halt, son," cried grandfather. "England will con- 
 test that. His Majesty will scorn our declaration. 
 There will be war in this land, and God give i;he right 
 the might to triumph." 
 
 "War," broke in Uncle Hiram, "who expected 
 aught else? As they have tried to crush Boston, they 
 will try to crush the whole land; and the whole land 
 will fight . their armies and drive them back to their 
 own shores. These shores are ours. Thank God, 
 we've had the courage to declare what we are — a 
 free people and a nation." 
 
 My Aunt Tabitha suddenly appeared in the dcor- 
 way and cut short Uncle Hiram's oratory. "Craving 
 your pardon, gentlemen. Gideon, Abijah Hooper with 
 his family is coming. Will you receive them ? " My 
 uncle hurried away. 
 
 The stillness of that Sunday evening was made very 
 memorable to the crowd of lads and lassies, kith or 
 kin, who sat about the rooms in decorous silence, whis- 
 pering to one another of the events of the morrow and 
 welcoming the bedroom candles as a relief from very 
 certain oppression. 
 
 The eighth day of July, 1776, broke clear and sweet — 
 a warm, sunshiny morning. 
 
 Breakfast was over ; near-by relatives came in shoals 
 to the house; in the gardens the servants were putting 
 up the great tent for the masque ; and the hired mum- 
 mers had unpacked their boxes, peeped at curiously 
 
THE SILVER WEDDING OF UNCLE GIDEON 95 
 
 by a wondering crowd of merry-making lads and 
 lassies. 
 
 My aunt dispensed hospitality to all with a gracious 
 hand and made things vastly agreeable for the woman- 
 kind ; but the men, and there were many of them, sat 
 in a close group on the south porch, talking for the 
 most part in a fashion unusually earnest for a wedding 
 celebration. 
 
 At half-past ten my uncle rose and sought Aunt 
 Tabitha. They were closeted some ten minutes; and 
 as they came from his office together, her face showed 
 traces of tears. 
 
 "Hiram," said he, "assemble your cousins; for I 
 have decided that I with my guests shall attend in a 
 body the reading of the Declaration. This shall be my 
 share of the celebration of my silver wedding; the 
 pole twining and mummeries can wait till later." 
 
 I ran gladly to do his bidding, and in a short time away 
 streamed the entire silver wedding train to the State 
 House Yard. A vast concourse of people also was 
 streaming thither. They came from every direction; 
 they were of every class. 
 
 Before twelve o'clock a solid mass of waiting citizens 
 filled the great space of the State House Yard. I had 
 difficulty, with my cousin Betsey on my arm, to maintain 
 a place. 
 
 Presently, as when a lull comes in a rustling wind, 
 the hum of voices ceased. A man was stepping forth 
 upon the little balcony of the observatory; he was 
 John Nixon, the friend of my Uncle Gideon. 
 
 As he stood there, holding in his hands the document 
 
96 LADS AND LASSIES OF OTHER DATS 
 
 of the Declaration, the silence of the waiting throng 
 could be felt. His voice, clear, resonant, and search- 
 ing, was so distinct, when he began to read, as to be 
 plainly heard on the opposite side of Fifth Street. 
 
 '"When, in the course of human events, it becomes 
 necessary for one people to dissolve the political bands 
 which have connected them with another, and to 
 assume, among the powers of the earth, the separate 
 and equal station to which the laws of Nature and of 
 Nature's God entitle them, a decent respect to the opin- 
 ions of mankind requires that they should declare 
 the causes which compel them to the separation.'" 
 
 There was a pause, and the speaker looked stead- 
 fastly out over the sea of faces ere he took up, one by 
 one, those noble sentences, nobly framed, by which we 
 threw down the gauntlet for a nation's freedom; then 
 he went on. My heart caught fire as he read; a lump 
 rose in my throat; and I am not ashamed to say that 
 the tears dimmed my eyes as I grasped with swift sym- 
 pathy those eloquent arguments, reaching at length 
 to that climax : — 
 
 '"That these United Colonies are, and of right ought 
 to be, free and independent states; that they are 
 absolved from all allegiance to the British Crown, and 
 that all political connection between them and the 
 State of Great Britain is, and ought to be, totally 
 dissolved; and that, as free and independent states, 
 they have full power to levy war, conclude peace, con- 
 tract alliances, establish commerce, and to do all other 
 acts and things, which independent states may of right 
 do. And, for the support of this Declaration, with a 
 
THE SILVER WEDDING OF UNCLE GIDEON 97 
 
 firm reliance on the protection of divine Providence, 
 we mutually pledge to each other our lives, our for- 
 tunes, and our sacred honor.' " 
 
 The reader's voice fell with the last word. Then upon 
 
 the air burst a ringing cheer from a thousand throats 
 
 — another, another, another — wave on wave. The 
 
 State House bell pealed merrily; the bells of Christ 
 
 'Church broke into a chime. 
 
 The people began to move, shouting, laughing, some 
 dancing, but many more gravely shaking hands. On 
 faces with the tears scarcely dry, laughter now shone. 
 Several men ran to the center of the square bearing 
 fagots. A fire was kindled, and with roaring and 
 rollicking, the great coat of arms of King George 
 III of England, which had had place over the judge's 
 seat, was brought forth with mock solemnity and 
 hurled into the heart of the blaze. The crowd joined 
 hands and danced in howling circles around the bonfire. 
 I looked about for our people; and finding them gone, 
 Betsey and I left the square and hurried home. 
 
 My aunt, with a bevy of sympathetic relatives, had 
 retired to her room to indulge in hysterics and smelling 
 salts. Good Aunt Agatha had assumed the duties of 
 hostess and was dispensing lunch. Uncle Gideon, 
 happier than I had ever before seen him, went about 
 asking every one to congratulate him upon the suc- 
 cessful celebration of his silver wedding. Then, his 
 heart accusing him for the disappointment of Aunt 
 Tabitha, he gave orders that her festival should go for- 
 ward, which it did right merrily to that lady's ultimate 
 satisfaction. 
 
98 LADS AND LASSIES OF OTHER DATS 
 
 In gala dress we had the garden masque. As it was 
 finished, and a tea drinking and a merry promenade 
 about the garden began, to while away the time between 
 the stately dinner and statelier evening cotillon, again 
 I listened to the ringing of the State House bell. 
 
 I was with Dennis. We looked into each other's faces 
 for an instant, and then ran with one accord to doff 
 our gay coats; and away we flew to the square to hear 
 the proclamation made to the troops. Many a man 
 who wore the red coat of England that day tore it off 
 gladly at the call. 
 
 'Twas then my heart took fire. I had a country. 
 The soil upon which I trod, the air which I breathed, 
 my beloved home, were no longer English bound; they 
 were my own, a part of my country. I was a subject 
 no longer. I was a citizen; and then and there, I 
 vowed to enter the army of my land. 
 
 I whispered my resolve to Dennis. He squeezed 
 my hand and whispered back the same determination. 
 On our homeward way we met Joshua and Laban. 
 They too had heard the proclamation and were de- 
 termined to go. Into my Uncle Gideon's gate we 
 marched, heads up, hearts aflame to become the de- 
 fenders of a new nation. 
 
 Grandfather was walking up and down a rose alley, 
 in meditation, his cane thumping the gravel. He saw 
 us coming. It was early twilight, with a gray-blue 
 evening sky and one bright star. 
 
 "Lads," he called to us, " come hither ! I know where 
 you have been ! Speak, Joshua, what's at your heart ? " 
 
 Joshua spoke of our joint determination. His words, 
 
THE SILVER WEDDING OF UNCLE GIDEON 98 
 
 struggling with .emotion, trembled with the newborn 
 patriotism of young blood. 
 
 Grandfather brought down his cane with a sounding 
 thud and cried: "What care I now that my old heart 
 is shriveled ! Here be four hearts which carry my 
 blood to do great things for my country ! Now, 
 lads, go dance and be gay. Carry a high resolve, with 
 a bright face and merry heels. "Tis the life of a young 
 man." 
 
 My Aunt Tabitha's silver-wedding dance was a 
 memorable one for me. Very sweet the music wag, 
 very gay the dancing. On the lawn, at ten o'clock, 
 fireworks were set off. Uncle Gideon and I met among 
 our flower beds. "Lad," said he, "Aunt Tabitha 
 hath had her wish to-day, and I" — he paused and 
 looked up to the sky full of stars — "I've had mine; 
 I am a citizen of a free country." 
 
LAETITIA AND THE REDCOATS 
 
 Dame Wright had just taken the last loaves from 
 the oven and was dusting off some ashes from the 
 wooden bread shovel before she replaced it in its corner. 
 Clear spring sunlight streamed into the kitchen, warm- 
 ing the sione floor to a deep brown color, and touching 
 the mugs and platters on the dresser till they fairly 
 winked back its brightness. A robin outside was whis- 
 tling gayly, and a long branch of lilac buds peeped in 
 at the wide-swung upper door, as if desirous of finish- 
 ing its career in the blue-and-gold pitcher which stood 
 on the dresser, even before it had attained to bloom on 
 its own native bush. A patter of flying feet sounded 
 outside, and the lower door was flung hastily open, re- 
 vealing a little figure in a long, blue cloak, the hood of 
 which, fallen back, discovered a head of short-cropped, 
 curly hair. Laetitia's eyes were dilated with surprise 
 and terror, and before the astonished dame could com- 
 ment on her disheveled appearance, she gasped out : — 
 
 "Oh, grandmother, the British are crossing Orange 
 Valley, and Master Paxton saith they will camp here 
 at nightfall ! He saith thou and grandfather must 
 hasten to depart at once. Thou shalt have two of his 
 horses, and accompany him to the huts on the moun- 
 tain side!" 
 
 "Neighbor Paxton is a kindly man. Calm thyself, 
 
 100 
 
LAETITIA AND THE REDCOATS 101 
 
 Laetitia. When thou hast thy breath, run to the mill, 
 child, and bid thy grandfather come. Alas! for these 
 troublous times when the aged and children flee before 
 the march of strong men!" 
 
 With a sad, anxious face, she began instant prepara- 
 tions, while Laetitia, hurriedly pulling her hood over 
 her curls, sped down the path toward the mill. She 
 met her grandfather coming homeward. He was old, 
 feeble, and bent, clad in homespun. 
 
 "Laetitia," he said, as she trotted along at his side, 
 "vex not thy grandmother this day with foolish terrors, 
 but lend thy help like the willing little handmaiden 
 that thou art, and remember that all things come from 
 the hand of the Lord." 
 
 Laetitia glanced up at his face. 
 
 "But will not the redcoats spoil the house of goods 
 and furniture, perhaps burn thy dear home, grand- 
 father, and thou an old man without sons — and grand- 
 mother, too, so old?" 
 
 "I know not, my daughter. So far, the Lord hath 
 spared my gray hairs, though this war hath taken the 
 five boys, my five brave lads!" His voice shook. 
 r 'But thou must be brave, Laetitia. Thou art our one 
 ewe lamb." 
 
 "I will then, grandfather. Not another tear will I 
 shed." 
 
 They entered the yard, bright with violet-sprinkled 
 grass, and found Dame Wright busily packing what 
 she could into secret places, and piling up household 
 treasures for burial in the woods. Laetitia flitted 
 hither and yon all day, her nimble little feet and clever 
 
102 LADS AND LASSIES OF OTHER DAYS 
 
 head saving the old people much worry and fatigue. 
 She was kneeling in a roomy closet upstairs, searching 
 out her grandmother's camlet cloak, when her bright 
 eyes fell on her grandfather's inkhorn and quill pen 
 lying on some deep blue paper. As she had gone about 
 from room to room, up and down the old house, more 
 and more the fear had grown upon her that it was for 
 the last time. The thought of her grandparents home- 
 less and desolate, of rough soldiers clanking about the 
 house with devastating hands, filled the soft eyes with 
 tears and caused her heart to throb. The ink and 
 paper were a suggestion. She ran downstairs with the 
 cloak, and finding that neither grandfather nor grand- 
 mother needed her at that instant, she returned to the 
 closet and carefully prepared her writing materials. 
 
 The quill was new and the ink good. Slowly and 
 thoughtfully the little fingers guided the goosefeather 
 along the faint lines, first across one sheet, and then 
 across another. When the task was finished, Laetitia 
 raised her flushed face and surveyed the result with 
 satisfaction ; and no small degree of hope shone in 
 her eyes. The letter ran : — 
 
 " To the Redcoats : I am Laetitia Wright, aged fourteen, 
 who live in this house with my grandparents. They are old and 
 feeble folk, gentle and peaceful to friend and foe. I pray you, 
 dear Redcoats, spare their home to them, and do not burn nor ruin 
 our house. Perhaps thou hast a little maid like me in England, 
 and old parents. Thou couldst not burn the roof from over their 
 heads, and in such pity and mercy, spare ours ! We leave thee 
 much to eat, and would leave thee more, were our store larger. 
 Signed, 
 
 "Laetitia Wkight." 
 
ZAETITIA AND THE BEDCOATS 103 
 
 This was neatly written on both papers, and Laetitia, 
 tucking them into her pocket, slipped off to her duties 
 with a lighter heart. The last preparations were soon 
 made, and they started to join the little cavalcade 
 already in line to travel up the side of Orange Moun- 
 tain to the log huts built there in readiness for such 
 invasions as this. 
 
 "Alas, my geese!" exclaimed Laetitia, when with 
 tearful eyes they had turned their backs on the low, 
 white house. "My geese are still in the pen, grand- 
 mother ! Let me hasten back and turn them loose." 
 
 Permission was given her, and away she darted across 
 the brook, on its rough foot log, to the goose pen. 
 There were her snow-white geese and the gray gander. 
 They were Laetitia's particular pride and care and 
 knew her well ; but, only stopping to stroke one smooth 
 back, she opened the wicket and drove them, honking 
 and hissing, into the woods. Then she pulled the papers 
 from her pocket; and hastily slipping one below the 
 kitchen door, she fastened the other on the front-door 
 knocker. Then she rejoined her grandparents and 
 was soon mounted behind her grandfather in the little 
 procession, which wound slowly up the rough moun- 
 tain road to shelter and safety. 
 
 At sunset the British, pushing across New Jersey, 
 :eached the village, and though but a small detachment, 
 they proceeded to occupy every available building. The 
 peaceful quiet and exquisite neatness of the Wright 
 homestead were rudely invaded by coarse laughter, 
 loud shouts, and the tramp of heavy boots and chink 
 of spurs. 
 
104 LADS AND LASSIES OF OTHER DATS 
 
 One of the officers soon found and read the note that 
 Laetitia had left under the knocker, while a private, 
 a stalwart, good-natured fellow spelled out the other 
 in the kitchen. Colonel Ross looked long and con- 
 templatively at the crude, childish characters, and 
 his stern face softened. 
 
 "Thou'rt a bold little lass and a leal one," he mut- 
 tered under his breath. "Thou must take us for fiends 
 to destroy thy home after this." He glanced at the 
 humble cottage so bravely pleaded for, and then across 
 to the mountains, where a faint spring twilight was 
 falling and the young moon shone out pale and clear. 
 
 Insensibly his thoughts drifted to his own English 
 home, where that same moon would light up his little 
 Cicely's casement. His own little lass ! There was a 
 heart under that terrible red jacket. 
 
 Striding into the kitchen, he found a knot of men 
 commenting on the other letter, and his orders soon 
 went forth that no pillage except for necessary food 
 and fodder was to be indulged in throughout the village, 
 and no damage was to be done to goods or furniture. 
 
 Just as the men, hungry and tired, were searching 
 for supper, along the brook came Laetitia's geese toward 
 their pen. 
 
 A shout welcomed them, and they were quickly seized 
 and dispatched. All but the gander. One young 
 soldier had a knife raised to kill this squawking fowl, 
 when he paused suddenly. "Mistress Laetitia, since 
 this bird may be thine, I'll spare him out of courtesy," 
 he said gayly, as he popped the old gander into the 
 open pen. "He will make thee a good roast, ere thou 
 
"Laetitia detached a little bag ahd a slip of papeb. 
 
LAETITIA AND THE REDCOATS 107 
 
 hast the wherewithal to refill thy empty larder." So 
 the solitary gander escaped with his life. 
 
 Next night, at sunset, the bugles blew the marching- 
 signal; and the sound echoed and reechoed up the 
 silent valley, penetrating to the little huts in the forest, 
 where there was anxious watching for the red light of 
 burning homes, and smoke of destroyed crops. ' But 
 the night fell and waned, and not a glimmer shone to 
 indicate such calamity to the fugitives. Early next 
 morning the little band returned to the village. In- 
 stead of wailing and tears, shouts of joy and thanks- 
 giving arose from every house. Dirt and disorder 
 reigned supreme, but not one broken chair nor muti- 
 lated dish told of wanton recklessness. In a day or 
 two all could be restored, except for the depopulated 
 poultry roosts, and several pigs which were missing. 
 The sown fields were not trampled, and the dooryard 
 flowers still budded unharmed. 
 
 Laetitia's little heart beat with thankfulness, but 
 she kept quite silent. As they dismounted before their 
 own door, she saw the disconsolate gander solemnly 
 perambulating the green, like some self-imposed guard- 
 ian. "Alas, for the rest of the flock!" cried Dame 
 Wright. "But what has the fowl on its neck? Such 
 a burden I never saw on gander before." 
 
 Laetitia sprang forward and, kneeling down, detached 
 a little bag and a slip of paper. The bag chinked with 
 coin, and a dimpled smile broke over her hitherto anxious 
 little face as she read what was written on the slip. 
 Evidently the gay soldier out of courtesy had writ- 
 ten it. 
 
108 LADS AND LASSIES OF OTHER DATS 
 
 "Listen, grandmother, and dear grandfather!" she 
 cried gleefully. 
 
 " Sweet Mistress Wright, 
 We bid you good-night, 
 
 "Pis time for us soldiers to wander. 
 We've paid for your geese, 
 A penny apiece, 
 
 And left the change with the gander. 
 
 " Though redcoats we be, 
 You plainly will see, 
 
 We know how to grant a petition. 
 • With rough soldier care, 
 We've endeavored to spare 
 
 Your homes in a decent condition." 
 
 It was signed by the colonel and by a number of the 
 soldiers. Then, in reply to her grandparents' astonished 
 questions, she shyly told them about her petitions, 
 and the daring with which she had left them at the 
 doors. 
 
 Fervent were the blessings called down upon her 
 pretty, curly head when the news was spread abroad; 
 but she only laughed merrily and escaped them when 
 she could. 
 
 "It is as thou saidst, grandfather," she declared, as 
 she tossed some corn to the bereft gander. " The Lord's 
 hand stayed that of the enemy, and perhaps," stopping 
 to pick a violet while a sweet look came into her face, 
 "the redcoats have hearts like ours." 
 
 "Aye, and obedient daughters to touch them to good 
 deeds," said Dame Wright, as she lovingly kissed Lae- 
 titia's upturned face. 
 
CORNWALLIS'S MEN 
 
 "Alan, lad, hast thee closed up the mill?" 
 
 "Aye, mother; 'deed I have," laughed Alan, coming 
 into the living room from the mill place, and brushing 
 flour from his rosy face as he spoke. 
 
 " Thou thinkest I have no head for care taking, 
 mother; but 'deed the sluices are shut and the sacks 
 bestowed; every bar is up and weighted, and the place 
 dark as a dungeon. I'm going to help Nancy fetch 
 the milk." 
 
 "Snuff the candles and jog moppet's cradle yon," 
 said the busy dame, stirring the porridge pot, with a 
 thoughtful look in her eyes. "It be a coldish night, 
 Alan. Spy carefully up and down the road as thee 
 goest to Nancy. Hark! what was that?" 
 
 "Oh, nothing at all, mother!" said Alan, putting 
 the wooden yoke for the milk pails over his shoulders. 
 "Belike it was Sukey stamping in her stall." 
 
 He tramped off to the barnyard, but the goodwife 
 was not satisfied. 
 
 She called the children from their romp in the out- 
 kitchen and, putting their bowls of porridge before 
 them, took up a candle and entered the dark mill to 
 examine its fastenings herself. 
 
 It was a warm, sweet, musty place. The rafters 
 100 
 
110 LABS AND LASSIES OF OTHER SAYS 
 
 were half hidden by dusty festoons of cobwebs. The 
 hoppers, which whirred and purred all day long for 
 the family living, stood silent and dumb. The wooden 
 wheel shutting off the sluices lay well fastened back, 
 and high in the corner was the pile of white bags, tied 
 and billeted with wooden tally sticks, and awaiting 
 their owners. 
 
 "There's a smitch of good corn there," said the dame, 
 leaning over to push her finger against a bag, fearing it 
 was not filled to hard pressure. " Many a loaf of bread 
 for Dale-Rill-side lies there, and corn's none too plenty 
 with the war and plundering all about us !" She sighed 
 and went back to the living room. 
 
 Nancy and Alan entered with the milk pails. "It's 
 freezing a weeny," said Nancy, giving over her pails 
 to her mother. "There's a bit of ice along the goose 
 brook ; the ground's hard as the axhead. And oh, but 
 there's a bonny circle round the moon!" 
 
 "Snow," commented Alan. "And then Squire Mor- 
 timer cannot ride down to pay his tally and give us the 
 silver for winter shoon." 
 
 "You can ay foot it a bit longer as you stand," said 
 the dame, smiling. "It's not lack of silver that fretteth 
 me, nor the riding down of the Squire. I pray we do 
 not see the riding down of Cornwallis's men." 
 
 "They raided Sandy Farm last week," remarked 
 Alan; flinging a billet cf wood on the fire. "They took 
 all the cattle." 
 
 "What would 'ee do, brever Alan, if Cornwallis came 
 to 'ee mill?" piped a wee towhead over his porridge 
 bowl. 
 
COBNWALLIS 1 8 MEN 111 
 
 "Hark to Jackie!" laughed Alan, catching him up 
 for a kiss. "'Deed, I would put spurs to Sukey, and 
 ride — ride — ride — over sticks and stones and 
 stubble, forsooth, to our camp on the Raritan." 
 
 "Aye, lad, it's brave to say; but I would not have 
 the trial for thee — that would I not !" 
 
 Nancy cleared away the supper and sang the children 
 to sleep, as they lay in their low trundle beds with the 
 door of the living room open. " Sing ' Burned Byres/ " 
 pleaded Jackie, sleepily. The tall candles flared, and 
 Nancy crooned, — 
 
 " Click clacket, click clacket, 
 They ridet away, 
 Full forty brave men 
 At th' peep o' th' day ; 
 But say was it brav'ry 
 Burned byres to see 
 O'er all the broad village 
 O' Stane-by-the-Lea?" 
 
 "Thee's a bit too grewsome in thy singing," sighed 
 the dame, hstening sharply. " Hist ! Does thee no 
 hear hoof beats?" 
 
 "Aye, do I," said Nancy, quietly; and going to the 
 lattice she turned its broad button and looked out 
 across the gray moonlit landscape far northward to 
 the line of woods. The brooding stillness of coming 
 snow lay over everything. Through this stillness, 
 sharp and distinct, came the even but distant beat of 
 hoofs — not the light click of a single rider, but the 
 sound of a number of horses' feet. 
 
 "They be over the ridge yet," said Nancy taking 
 
112 LADS AND LASSIES OF OTHEB DAYS 
 
 down her saddle. "Tis windless, and sound travels 
 far. Which shall 't be that rides Sukey, mother — 
 Alan or I?" 
 
 Alan came in at the door. 
 
 "Not thy saddle, Nancy," he cried. "Let me go!" 
 
 "Nay, I am safe enough on Sukey! Bethink thee 
 of the rough soldiers! Stay to protect mother, Alan!" 
 
 "But the road is dark and broken; soldier bands 
 are prowling hither and yon," he cried, looking with 
 terror at Nancy tying on her cloak. 
 
 "Let Nancy go," said the dame. "We'll have shift 
 enough to hold the mill, I fear." 
 
 "Now ride !" cried Alan, as Sukey was saddled, bitted, 
 and bridled. "Ride, Nancy, and pray help from Dick- 
 inson's men." 
 
 Nancy caught up the bridle and whispered to Sukey. 
 Then away she rode in the darkness, humming half 
 unconsciously the little song, as Sukey's hoofs beat the 
 time: — 
 
 " Click clacket, click clacket, 
 They ridet away, 
 Their roses were red, 
 An' their feathers streamed gay. 
 But redder than roses 
 Th' stains you may see 
 Of sword and long saber 
 At Stane-by-the-Lea ! " 
 
 Alan carried the babies up into the garret and snug- 
 gled them warm under blankets. They barricaded the 
 living-room doors, and then the real difficulty arose in 
 hiding the bags of flour. 
 
 "Where — where can they be stowed?" cried the 
 
COBNWALLIS'S MEN- 
 
 113 
 
 dame. But Alan answered in action. Squaring his 
 broad young shoulders for the task, he dragged them 
 ora at a time, and flung them down the well. 
 
 "Thee's ruined them forever, so!" wailed the dame. 
 
 "No, mother, only for the bottom few, and e'en then 
 Cornwallis's men shall not seize them — perchance. 
 One looks not for flour down a well." 
 
 The soldiers were on the brow of the hill as the last 
 fat bag sank below the well curb. The squad had made 
 a detour to plunder 
 a poultry yard, and 
 live chickens and 
 geese squawked as 
 they rode up. Alan 
 barred the mill door, 
 the mill being still 
 full enough of corn 
 and unground grain 
 for rich spoil; and 
 they waited. 
 
 " Open in the 
 name o' the King!" 
 cried a soldier's 
 rough voice. 
 
 "Keep a still tongue, mother," whispered Alan. 
 "Let them ay batter and beat a while." 
 
 "Let us in to your fire ! 'Tis snowing geese feathers !" 
 /•oared another. 
 
 " Come, give us your bacon flitches an' ropes o' onions ! " 
 
 "Corn, corn! Open th' mill." 
 
 Sharp spurs clinked on the garden stones, while the 
 
 He dragged them one at a time, and 
 flung them down the well." 
 
114 LADS AND LASSIES OF OTHER DATS 
 
 white snowstorm showered down its scurrying first 
 flakes, and than the stout oak doors of the mill shook 
 with the battering force of muskets and clubs. The 
 house doors were next attacked, the lattices shaken 
 and beaten, and splintering glass made holes in the 
 diamond panes which a fist might enter. 
 
 "Open, open ! or we'll burn ye — mother and child !" 
 
 "There be Hessians there," said Alan, quietly. 
 
 A great fist was thrust through the lattice, pushing 
 the barricade backward. It was overturned with a 
 crash, the window flung wide, and in another instant a 
 soldier had hurled himself into the room, followed by 
 several comrades, roaring and laughing. 
 
 "By my faith, mother, this fire burns well! 'Twill 
 take the frost from our bones! Who owns this mill?" 
 
 "One Robert Dale, a patriot, now serving under 
 Dickinson at New Brunswick," answered Alan. "And 
 he being in service, I, his son, am in charge." 
 
 "So ho, Sir Spratling! Come, then, show us the 
 corn bins." 
 
 "That will I not," he returned promptly. 
 
 "Come, lad," said a tall soldier of fine military bear- 
 ing, who now appeared beyond the barricades. "'Tis 
 the shortest shrift. You or the dame must show us 
 the bins, else my men will find them, and that will be 
 worse for you." 
 
 "Mayhap," said Alan, firmly. "But I'll not have 
 it said that Alan Dale was the coward to show thieves 
 how to steal the trusted goods of his neighbors! The 
 bins be not hard for clever robbers to find. My service 
 is not necessary." 
 
C0ENWALL1S' 8 MEN 115 
 
 "The lad says well," said the dame. 
 
 "Ye'll no take my mother for guide either," con- 
 tinued Alan; "or I'll give one of ye the chance to knock 
 me down, and only that, that ye've had the years to 
 get the strength and size I lack!" 
 
 "Softly, softly! Go ahead, men," ordered the tall 
 officer; "and keep a civil tongue, young Jackanapes, 
 lest the men do you a mischief. I like you," he added 
 in a low, quiet tone. Then he sat wearily down by the 
 fire, whilst the men began the sack of the mill. 
 
 "Thou hast the look of a gentleman, sire. I would 
 thy actions bore thee out," said the dame. 
 
 "Madam, war lays on the soldier commands which 
 the man abhors," he replied. "Have you not a baby 
 here?" as his eyes fell on the empty cradle. 
 
 "Yea." 
 
 "I left a little one three months old in Kent. If I 
 might be trusted, can I see the baby?" 
 
 "No, he shall not, mother, while he lets them carry 
 on bedlam yon in the mill place!" cried Alan, tor- 
 tured by the sounds he heard. "He shall not cosset 
 our baby while his soldiers steal our corn!" 
 
 But the dame understood the look in the young 
 officer's face and brought in the baby, warm and rosy 
 from her blanket nest under the rafters. She laid her 
 in the officer's arms. 
 
 "Bonny, bonny baby!" he said, touching the tiny 
 hands with reverent fingers and brushing the little 
 cheek with his lips. 
 
 "I'll no bide it!" cried Alan. "Put down our baby 
 and call off your men." 
 
116 LADS AND LASSIES OF OTHER DATS 
 
 "Soft, soft, son Alan! Hark!" 
 
 The officer started too. Again the sounds of hool 
 beats approached, clear above the din in cellar and 
 mill — nearer, nearer, The tender look faded from 
 the officer's face. "We are surprised!" he said, and 
 laid the baby back in its mother's arms. 
 
 "Madam, for a space you have made me happy. I 
 thank you. What is the baby's name?" 
 
 His hand was on his sword hilt as he waited for her 
 reply. 
 
 "Ruth Dale," answered the dame. 
 
 Then with a call he sprang in among his men. 
 
 Tramp, tramp ! Clank, clank ! The torches flared, 
 and the young officer helped at the lading of the horses 
 with sacks of corn. 
 
 "Dickinson's men!" cried Alan, joyfully. "Hi, 
 hurrah there! Dickinson's men ! " 
 
 Up they came in the falling snow, their horses steam- 
 ing ; and Sukey came too, brave, noble little Sukey with 
 Nancy on her back. 
 
 In the sharp onset which followed, Alan took a part, 
 handling a musket with the heartier will for his former 
 helplessness. But Nancy out in the dark barn quietly 
 blanketed Sukey, and then ran into the house to soothe 
 the screaming children, terrified by the 'musket shots. 
 
 The corn was saved. Only a few bags were gotten 
 away with, and the flour in the well curb lay quite 
 undiscovered. Then back into the north toward New 
 York rode Cornwallis's men. 
 
 But Nancy, when the confusion was over, sobbed 
 with her head in her mother's lap, while Alan exulted. 
 
CORN W ALLIES MEN 117 
 
 "That was a ride!" he cried. "Mother, you should 
 ay have let me take it!" 
 
 "'Twas cold," said Nancy, "and Sukey liked not 
 the icy water at the ford — which minds me of my wet 
 shoon. And had I not met the men at the forks, surely 
 we could not have ridden here in time." 
 
 "If ever there was music in nags' hoof beats, 'twas 
 when they rode up," said Alan. 
 
 That was the last raid of Cornwallis's men in Dale- 
 Rill-side. But when the war had been over for several 
 years, the postrider stopped at the mill one snowy 
 Christmas eve, and out of his bag came a gift from far 
 over the seas. It was a silver mug; and on it, beauti- 
 fully graven in quaint old English lettering, were the 
 words : — 
 
 Ruth Dale. America. 
 
 From the Officer's Baby, 
 
 Elizabeth Emory. England. 
 
IN THE HOUSE OF A TORY 
 
 It was spring in New Jersey, the Yankee spring, 
 with howling winds and nipping cold such as I had 
 never felt before in all my life, in my English home in 
 Devonshire. 
 
 Aye, the spring was cold; and the little desolate, 
 war-stricken hamlet in which I found myself was cold 
 
 — cold and cheerless. 
 
 The great room of the manor was very cold, too, this 
 morning, albeit a fire crackled upon the hearth. My 
 father had just finished the reading of morning prayers.. 
 The servants filed away in a solemn procession. To 
 hear my father read prayers at any time was enough to 
 make the giddiest housemaid solemn ; but that it should 
 affect our housekeeper, Dame Barbara, to tears, sur- 
 prised me mightily. She was a tall, spare woman with 
 fanatical notions, of whom the entire household stood 
 in awe. My uncle had upheld her in all things. My 
 father, who had lived but three months in the manor, 
 administering my uncle's estate for my cousin Cuthbert 
 
 — my father, too, respected Dame Barbara. 
 
 If I had seen the stone lions on our Devonshire por- 
 tico weeping tears, it would have surprised me no more 
 than to observe them now, swimming and welling over 
 in Dame Barbara's eyes as she passed me by. The 
 second lesson of the morning had been of the good 
 
 118 
 
IN THE HOUSE OF A TORT 119 
 
 Samaritan and my father read it marvelously well; 
 but that it should affect this woman of stone to tears — 
 I turned and faced my cousin Cuthbert. He had laid 
 the Bible aside upon its crimson cushion after my 
 father's reading; he had bowed reverently to my 
 father, as he crossed the hall and entered the library; 
 and now he came to me. He was a tall lad and finely 
 built. To-day he wore a simple suit of mulberry cloth 
 with rich silk finishings. My eyes flashed pleasure at 
 the sight of him, but my thoughts harked back to 
 Dame Barbara's tears. 
 
 "Cuthbert," said I, softly, "Dame Barbara cried 
 at prayers. Think you not that was a strange doing?" 
 
 "A band of rebels went by here early this morning," 
 said my cousin, thoughtfully, with a grave look upon 
 his usually sunny face. "It was a flying fragment of 
 the ragged miscreants who are camping beyond here. 
 Our men are moving up the valley. Dame Barbara 
 may have seen the rebels. Her husband was, and her 
 son is, a patriot. She herself is a stanch Tory. But 
 come, my dear little coz ! See what a benison of a day 
 it is! I know a nook full of daffodils and violets un- 
 curling ! Let's go together for a nosegay !" 
 
 I went to the sidelight of the great hall door and 
 peered dubiously forth. 
 
 "Nay," said I; "I like not the way this Yankee 
 wind rides it over your rough hills. Of a truth, Cuth- 
 bert, I wish I were back in Devonshire. There, the 
 spring comes upon one sweetly, and not with roaring 
 winds and beating storms." 
 
 "Say not so, Gladys," said Cuthbert, tenderly; "for 
 
120 LADS AND LASSIES OF OTHER DAYS 
 
 after my father's death, who had I of kith or kin in all 
 this land, till you and my uncle took ship to come to 
 me?" 
 
 My eyes began to twinkle. "Aye, and had I known 
 then, as well as I know now, what a cockleshell a ship 
 is, I should have cried rivers of tears, instead of the 
 gallons I did shed, at leaving them all." 
 
 "Are you homesick?" said my cousin, quickly and 
 jealously. 
 
 "I do not know," I returned, looking about me. 
 "Oh, Cuthbert, why does not my father take us both 
 back to England and let these lands of yours lie? I 
 could take you violeting in lanes where the air is shrewd 
 sweet with them, and there is naught of this buffeting 
 wind!" 
 
 "Put on your bonnet and cloak, Gladys; and, since 
 we are not in England, I will show you frail, sweet 
 windflowers nodding to match your cowslips, and our 
 roaring wind shall deepen your roses." 
 
 Again I turned to the sidelight. "Suppose we meet 
 with rebels. The countryside knows us for bitter 
 Tories, and half the folk of the hamlet are patriots. 
 What is there in this air of yours which makes good 
 English blood turn balking, and the people suffer so 
 many ills to be rid of their king ! They are trying to 
 jump over the moon. Can there be a country without 
 a king? England, too, has borne injustice and wended 
 out of it. I have no patience with your land !" 
 
 "You wrong my land," began my cousin, with con- 
 siderable spirit, when — "Lass!" cried a stern voice, 
 and my father appeared in the library doorway; "bon- 
 
IN THE BOUSE OF A TOBY 121 
 
 net thee and walk abroad with thy cousin, but keep 
 thy woman's tongue from meddling with Yankee pol- 
 itics. Talk begetteth controversy, and controversy 
 begetteth sympathy, and sympathy hath turned more 
 hearts than one from their righteous allegiance. Thy 
 father died stanch and loyal to his king, Cuthbert; 
 and I will not see his son grow up one whit less loyal." 
 
 "Sire, I am not disloyal," cried Cuthbert, raising 
 frank, fearless eyes to my father's face. "Have I not 
 pleaded to go with the army ? I would go adrumming 
 with my Lord Cornwallis, saidst thou but the word!" 
 
 "Not so," returned my father, hastily; "thou art 
 the last bud on my brother's branch. Nay, there be 
 enough stout Hessians to put down these upstart churls. 
 Such as thou art is too good for the sacrifice;" and he 
 turned abruptly back into the library again, leaving 
 us staring. 
 
 "I know how the rebels would fare if my uncle were 
 a general," laughed Cuthbert. 
 
 I ran for bonnet and cloak, and we two set out to- 
 gether. The wind howled and roared as it whipped 
 the trees. The muck of the road was dried hard. 
 Beneath the wayside thickets, grass, emerald-green, 
 peeped cheerfully. Cloud shadows chased with won- 
 drous swiftness over the hills. And the little brooks, 
 atinkle after an icebound winter, sang merry music. 
 
 Presently I began to skip. I caught Cuthbert's 
 hand, and we were dancing a farandole together, keep- 
 ing time to his sweet whistling, when from behind a 
 tree trunk a fearsome savage stepped suddenly forth. 
 I turned white and cold upon beholding him and was 
 
122 LADS AND LASSIES OF OTHER DATS 
 
 like to faint; but Cuthbert sprang upon him and gave 
 him a hearty hug, whereupon the Indian grunted and 
 passed on. 
 
 "Gramercy, Cuthbert!" cried I. "How dared you 
 so risk your life? If there be Indians, too, along with 
 rebels in your woods, I'll none of your daffodils. Let 
 us go back." 
 
 Cuthbert laughed. "That was Nemoset," said he, 
 shrugging his square shoulders. "He was my father's 
 friend before I was born. Quell your English fears. 
 Do you not think that I can draw sword on real danger, 
 that you grow so white?" and with his lad's pride 
 sorely wounded, he strode on ahead. 
 
 I followed, lagging. After a few seconds he stopped, 
 and put out a tender arm. 
 
 "Beshrew my temper, little cousin," he said. 
 "Walk here by me. See, yonder is the glade full of 
 posies for you." 
 
 Truly, it was a sweetly pretty spot. The nook 
 fringed upon a wood, and near it fan a brook. There 
 grew the daffodils, rioting in the wind, and long- 
 stalked violets, and yellow, spotted bells of a kind I 
 wot not, but which I plucked most willingly. I soon 
 had my kirtle full of flowers and reached up to put 
 a knot in Cuthbert's bonnet. 
 
 "In the clearing across the roadway, if you will brave 
 going into the thicket, you will find nuns' faces and rue," 
 he said. 
 
 I kilted up my petticoat and in we pushed, scrambling 
 for the wild flowers hither and thither, until the road 
 was left behind us, and we followed a path strewn thick 
 
" ' CUTHBERT, COME HITHEK ! ' I CALLED. ' HERE LIES A WOUNDED LAD.' 
 
IN THE HOUSE OF A TORT 125 
 
 with oak leaves. With long stout sticks we poked 
 among the leaves for posies. 
 
 "See," cried I, "what a mound of leaves lies here!" 
 Stick in hand, I stood over a hillock of oak leaves, piled 
 in a curious manner at the foot of a tree. Brushing 
 the leaves merrily aside, "God's mercy!" I gasped 
 weakly, and stood stock-still. Beneath them, half 
 uncovered, lay a lad of Cuthbert's age, as white as 
 death, with dank and matted locks. He was clasping 
 an old flintlock. 
 
 "God's mercy!" cried I again, but did not blanch 
 as I had done over the Indian. 
 
 "Cuthbert, come hither!" I called. "Here lies a 
 wounded lad. " I stooped and placed my finger upon the 
 pulse of his wrist. Alas, poor boy, he was near to death. 
 
 Cuthbert sprang up the path, pushed me aside, and 
 knelt by the boy. "A rebel," he cried sternly as, 
 with most gentle hands, he lifted the heavy musket and 
 drew it forth from the weak encircling arm. Then he 
 looked into the lad's face. 
 
 "Why, this is — this is — " he began in a tone of dis- 
 tress and sorrow ; then, with a catch in his breath, he 
 finished in a cold voice., "this is just a rebel." 
 
 The lad lay there, footsore and ragged, his face 
 pinched with suffering and hunger, and at Cuthbert's 
 eold words I cried out with pity. 
 
 "Rebel or no rebel," I said, "he lies here helpless, 
 perhaps dying. He must have dropped from the ranks 
 this morning, and crawled here to cover himself with 
 leaves to die alone. Be he whom he may, we have 
 found him and we must succor him !" 
 
126 LADS AND LASSIES OF OTHER DATS 
 
 "Mistress," cried my cousin, lifting a white face to 
 mine, "he is a rebel and we are Tories. Think of my 
 uncle's wrath, if we succor him!" 
 
 "Cuthbert," I retorted, flashing scorn, "such words 
 from you have a false ring. You, forsooth, to think of 
 going drumming with my Lord Cornwallis! You, 
 who fear to act where duty speaks so plainly!" 
 
 Cuthbert sprang to his feet. 
 
 "Were you a lad I'd cuff you for such insolence," he 
 roared angrily; then, softening, "My neart is e'en as 
 yours, little one, but my head, too, gives a thought to 
 this sad coil." 
 
 "Let your head come to naught," I said; "take to 
 your legs and bring hither restoratives. Will you let 
 him die while you turn thoughts over in your head?" 
 
 Cuthbert disappeared, and I knelt down by the lad. 
 I drew his cloak, ragged and thin, closely about him, 
 caught up Cuthbert's which he had left beside me, and 
 wrapped him snugly in it; and then, with thumping 
 heart, I chafed and warmed his poor wrists, getting 
 'twixt him and the wind. He was hollow-cheeked 
 from hunger ; deep, purple circles lay beneath his eyes ; 
 and even as I watched him I trembled lest, with every 
 faint breath, the good life should slip away. How 
 mightily I wished to save him ! 
 
 At last Cuthbert returned. He brought brandy, 
 some milk, and a blanket. In that cold, still wood, 
 with its moaning wind, I was glad to see him come. 
 "Gladys, you are chilled through," he cried; "I fear 
 me you too will be ill." 
 
 "Save your fears and minister to the lad," said I, 
 
IN TEH MOUSE OF A TOBY 121 
 
 impatiently. "Oh, Cuthbert, I cannot help thinking, 
 that had you gone your drumming way under Corn- 
 wallis, you too might have been lying thus somewhere. 
 Do try to save him!" 
 
 While Cuthbert worked with the lad, I stood apart 
 under a tree. "Sweet," he called to me at length, 
 "come hither. The lad is reviving, and if I can get 
 him home, we may save his life. I will not let the 
 blame come upon the servants, and carry him myself 
 I cannot. Pray, will you do an errand?" 
 
 I tossed my head and switched my cloak. "As if 
 you needed to ask," I said. 
 
 Slyly smiling he continued: "You must go to the 
 little nook where we found the yellow bells. A path 
 leads from it into the wood. Follow it till you come 
 to an Indian's wigwam. Tis Nemoset's. Give him 
 this deer's foot, and he will follow you back to me. He 
 can carry the lad for us easily." 
 
 My heart stood still. A cold fright crept over me. 
 But Cuthbert was unfastening the deer's foot from his 
 belt and noted me not. 
 
 "Why need you call upon that grewsome savage?" 
 I faltered. 
 
 "Because only that grewsome savage can bear this 
 lad to my own bedchamber and not share sure punish- 
 ment with me. 'Tis there or death for — this rebel," 
 he concluded. 
 
 Now my teeth fairly chattered from fright. Cuth- 
 bert's cool indifference to the punishment his course 
 was inviting shook my own heart with fear for him. 
 
 "Dear Cuthbert, let Nemoset take the lad to his 
 
128 LADS AND LASSIES OF OTHER DAYS 
 
 wigwam," I wailed. "Is the danger so great? Oh. 
 why should you be punished?" 
 
 Cuthbert's clear eyes met mine steadily. 
 
 "Only a warm bed and the right kind of care can sava 
 him," he said, "and Nemoset could give neither. 
 Cousin, will you go?" 
 
 With a shaking hand, I reached for the deer's foot 
 and sped. 
 
 Into the dark wood I dashed, my heart quaking, my 
 feet flying; and as I went, every glimmering, moving 
 shadow magnified itself into an Indian. At last, spent 
 and trembling, I came upon a single log lying as a bridge 
 across a brawling brook. In England we had no such 
 reckless bridges, and I feared greatly to cross it. But, 
 alas, I had no choice. So over it I skipped nimbly, 
 and came upon a tent of skins standing in a clearing. 
 
 Nemoset sat beside the door. Inwardly shivering and 
 quailing , I tendered him the deer's foot. He glanced 
 at it, dropped the squirrel's skin he was dressing, and 
 rose to follow me, uttering one fearsome sound. He 
 walked behind me to the little bridge. Again I faltered 
 and feared to cross it. Nemoset walked before me 
 to the middle of the bridge, and then turned and 
 stretched forth a brown hand to lift me over it. 
 
 "Nay, nay," I cried, shuddering horribly. "Go 
 first, Nemoset! Go first, and stay thus in the wood. 
 I will follow thy steps." 
 
 Nemoset bent a sharp look upon me with eyes so 
 piercing that I would fain have cried out, but that fear 
 chained me. Uttering again that savage sound, he 
 made one stride of the bridge and entered the wood, 
 
IN THE HOUSE OF A TOBY 
 
 129 
 
 while I, creeping timorously, followed him. I kept 
 well out of his shadow ; and watching his swaying chap- 
 let of feathers with terrified eyes, I threaded the silent 
 wood path behind him, and we two came at length to 
 Cuthbert. At the first glimpse of Cuthbert's kind face, 
 I sobbed with relief. ' Nemoset saw my rolling tears and 
 
 "I TENDERED HIM THE DEER'S FOOT." 
 
 shrugged his shoulders, turning his back squarely to 
 me. 
 
 "Gladys," said my cousin, "Nemoset will carry 
 the lad through the woods to'the back of the manor. I 
 must fly home by a short cut which I know of to prepare 
 things for the lad's reception. You must return by 
 the road and enter the front door. Hasten, I pray you; 
 
130 LADS AND LASSIES OF OTHER DATS 
 
 and come what will, your father must not know that a 
 rebel lies sheltered under our roof. Why, sweet, he'd 
 blow a trumpet from the portico till he brought our 
 soldiers galloping, and then he'd hand the lad over to 
 them." 
 
 "So would he not," I retorted; but was glad never- 
 theless that Cuthbert did not stay to argue the point. 
 
 Gathering my cloak about me, I fled homeward. 
 Every clump of bushes held a rebel or an Indian to my 
 quaking fears; and glad I was to speed up the broad 
 roadway to our hospitable house door, and at length 
 to sink wearily down before the library fire, out of the 
 cold wind. My father, at his desk, slightly inclined 
 his head at my entrance. He was turning the leaves 
 of one of many ledgers which lay piled about him. 
 
 The assurance of safety and the warm blaze 
 made me drowsy. I crept into the chimney nook and 
 furtively watched my father. All manner of plans ran 
 through my head. One of them was to go to him, then 
 and there, and beg shelter for the rebel boy. The 
 daring of this pleased me; but when I glanced at my 
 father's cold, stern face, all hope of success forsook me. 
 After what seemed, to me an endless time, Cuthbert's 
 face peered round the door jamb. My father's quill 
 scratched tranquilly on, and I arose and tiptoed out. 
 
 Cuthbert led me to the staircase, and we sat down 
 together upon a landing. "The lad lies in my own bed," 
 said Cuthbert, in a low whisper. "I hope no one saw 
 Nemoset carrying him to the house, but I dare say 
 some spying eye may have watched us. We tended 
 him together, Nemoset and I. He is simply half starved 
 
IN TBE HOUSE OF A TOBY 131 
 
 and overcome by weakness. Now, my sweet Mistress 
 Compassion, he lies in bodily comfort, safe from imme- 
 diate danger of death ; but the mischief is brewing for 
 you and me." 
 
 He watched me curiously, as he included me in some 
 impending disaster. I smiled. "Something must now 
 be done which only you can do," he continued. " Who'll 
 tell Dame Barbara?" 
 
 "Must she be told?" I gasped. My heart sank. 
 
 "She must be told," said Cuthbert, firmly; "and you 
 will have to tell her, coz. If any of the servants tell 
 her, I fear to think what might happen. I do not know 
 what she would do, she is so strange and hard. I cannot 
 go to her with this thing, nor can I tell you why. Will 
 you go, Gladys?" 
 
 "I will," said I, "at once." 
 
 And I went. 
 
 No fear of Indian or rebel on the highway sent such 
 thumps to my heart as beset it, when, in response to a 
 sharp "Come in," I lifted the latch of Dame Barbara's 
 door. 
 
 The housekeeper's room was large and, save for its 
 floods of sunshine, forbidding and grim. A great fire 
 roared up the chimney, and before it sat Dame Bar- 
 bara at her flax wheel, spinning. 
 
 She barely noticed me as I lagged across the room 
 and dropped upon a cricket before the fire. Her wheel 
 rept up its soft whirring, and the pine logs cracked and 
 jputtered on the hearth. 
 
 The words I wished to utter rose slowly in my choking 
 throat. I made no preamble. "Dame Barbara," I 
 
132 LADS AND LASSIES OF OTHER DATS 
 
 said, "this morning, Cuthbert and I found a rebel lad 
 who had hidden himself in Rising Wood. You mind 
 how the rebels marched by at sunrise. He must have 
 dropped from the ranks and crept away to die under 
 the oak leaves." 
 
 Dame Barbara's spinning came to an abrupt stop. 
 "What did you do for him?" she asked so harshly, 
 and with such sudden, strange trembling of her hands, 
 that I quailed more than ever. 
 
 "He is in Cuthbert's room," I cried; "and do him 
 no harm, Dame Barbara. Prithee, do not turn the lad 
 out or tell my father, I beg of you, dear Dame Bar- 
 bara," I implored, following in terror at her heels ; for, 
 as if she neither saw me nor heard my words, she. seized 
 her key basket and went directly toward Cuthbert's room. 
 
 I found Cuthbert upstairs in the embrasured window 
 which looked down toward the British camp. "Well," 
 he asked, drawing me inside the curtains and looking 
 oddly at me, "what did you tell her, and what did 
 she do?" 
 
 At the close of my tale Cuthbert said: "Go to the 
 library and stay there. We shall see if she comes to 
 tell my uncle. I have a notion to see for myself what 
 she does when she finds this rebel," and with another 
 odd look he stalked away. 
 
 My father was still writing. My presence before the 
 fire scarcely attracted his attention until, in response 
 to Cuthbert's frantic wavings in the hall, I arose and 
 tiptoed out to him again. "Lass," he cried gruffly, 
 "what ails thee? Thou creepest in and out like a 
 mouse ! Art thou ill ? " 
 
IN THE HOUSE OF A TORT 133 
 
 "No, father," I faltered, "'tis Cuthbert who is 
 beckoning me," and I hurried away. 
 
 "He is gone," said Cuthbert, looking curious and 
 puzzled. "I can scarce see where she can have spirited 
 him in so short a time. But when I reached my room, 
 he was gone, and the bed was freshly made. I ne'er 
 could fathom Dame Barbara's heart," he continued 
 more to himself than to me. "Could she have driven 
 him forth? Could she be so cruel to — " He broke 
 off. "Well, well, sweet coz," he resumed in a moment, 
 "go find where she is now, and I'll follow my own 
 trail." 
 
 I turned my steps hesitatingly toward the house- 
 keeper's room. She sat again before the fire, spinning. 
 I had a strange fancy that she had never been away 
 from the place, so calm was she. As I crossed toward 
 her she said, still pushing her treadle, "Lass, art thou 
 well?" 
 
 "Am I well, Dame Barbara?" I echoed uneasily. 
 "Surely I am well." 
 
 "Where is Cuthbert?" she next demanded. 
 
 "He — " I stammered, "he is hunting for the rebel 
 boy — he says — " 
 
 "I found no rebel in Cuthbert's room," declared 
 Dame Barbara, quietly. I looked at her with wide, 
 startled eyes. 
 
 "If rebel there was there, he must have risen and 
 crawled away again. I made the bed." 
 
 "But, Dame Barbara — " I began. She cut me off 
 with, "Does your father know?" 
 
 "No-o," I faltered. 
 
134 LADS AND LASSIES OF OTHER DATS 
 
 "Has Cuthbert ridden over to the British camp to 
 report this spy? Cuthbert is a Tory." 
 
 "Art thou not a Tory, too?" I cried, fearing her 
 less and scorning her more for her cold words. 
 
 "Thou knowest I am a Tory, stanch and loyal," she 
 said; "and so art thou. These rebels are rending not 
 only the land, but the heart of our most gracious king 
 as well." 
 
 "The heart of the king was sound and whole enough 
 when I saw him last at Brighton not six months since," 
 I cried hotly. "You are accountable for the lad's life, 
 Dame Barbara. It hung by a thread to live or to die. 
 If he was sent adrift — " 
 
 "Gladys!" 
 
 It was my father's voice at the door. "Come, lass, 
 thy pate is quicker at figuring than mine. Come prove 
 some columns for me." And I was fain to go, sitting 
 wearily at the library table, adding up long sums, while 
 worrisome fancies danced between me and the figures. 
 
 At luncheon Cuthbert did not appear. In the after- 
 noon I took a long ride abroad with my father. 
 
 At candlelight I sat in my room before the mirror, 
 waiting for my maid to come and dress me for dinner. 
 Presently she entered the room, and standing behind 
 me lifted my hair to brush it. "Your hand trembles, 
 Banks," said I; "what ails you?" 
 
 "Oh, Mistress Gladys," she faltered; "I like not 
 this strange land." 
 
 "Well, for the matter of that, I like it not myself," 
 replied I, composedly. "But what has stirred you, 
 Banks?" 
 
IN THE HOUSE OF A TORT 135 
 
 "As I was coming, in the dusk, past the housekeeper's 
 rooms, I heard low, strange moans. I listened by the 
 wall and heard them plainly, Missie. Dame Barbara 
 ne'er moans in such a fashion. I'm clean frighted. 
 'Twas a ghost warning to me that some one I love over 
 die seas is about to die." 
 
 "Hush thee," I cried irritably, "and tell thy cock- 
 and-bull story to no one else. By what wall didst thou 
 listen for the moans?" 
 
 "'Twas the wall of the storeroom." 
 
 "'Twas the wind in the chimney, belike," I finished 
 in a comforting tone. "If thou tellest that to the serv- 
 ants, they'll laugh at thee." 
 
 "'Twas no wind," muttered Banks; but I knew 
 she would mind my warning to tell no one else. 
 
 I knew now that the rebel boy lay hidden in the little 
 storeroom. Cuthbert's room had been his mother's 
 before his, and a winding stair led down from it to the 
 housekeeper's room. So there he lay, hid by Dame 
 Barbara herself, who had accused Cuthbert of handing 
 him over to our soldiers as a possible spy. 
 
 When I entered the drawing-room, I found my father 
 in conversation with an army officer, and was duly 
 presented to Lieutenant Grimshaw. While I was 
 making my curtsy my knees knocked together with 
 fright, for I knew no officer had been bidden to dinner ; 
 and I looked hastily about for Cuthbert. He sat over 
 behind a curtain tuning his guitar, and as soon as pos- 
 sible I crossed over to him. 
 
 "Do you know," I asked hurriedly, "whether the 
 lieutenant is here to dinner by my father's invitation?" 
 
136 LABS AND LASSIES OF OTHER DATS 
 
 "He is not," returned Cuthbert. "His coming sur- 
 prised my uncle. I heard him ask the lieutenant to 
 dine with us. It's a coil, sweet coz; and if I knew 
 where that rebel lad was whisked to, I'd be relieved." 
 
 I knew, but I said no word. 
 
 Dinner was announced, and Cuthbert took me in. 
 My father and his guest discussed the war freely, and 
 commented upon General Washington's troops, who 
 had passed through our town the night before, on 
 their way to Morristown. 
 
 "Beggars," growled my father, "vagabonds and 
 outcasts! Such a handful should not give us the 
 trouble they do." 
 
 The lieutenant eyed my father sharply. "Would 
 you give shelter to such a vagabond or an outcast?" 
 he asked. "The rebels passed your gates early this 
 morning; at least a small detachment of them did. 
 They eluded us by following an Indian trail through 
 Rising Wood." 
 
 "The servants saw them go by; I did not," replied 
 my father, indifferently. 
 
 "Then you have sheltered no such stray rebel or 
 vagabond?" repeated the lieutenant. 
 
 My father looked across the table at him with a quiet 
 scorn which was ominous. 
 
 "Sir," he said haughtily, "I am an Englishman and a 
 Tory. Your question insults this roof." 
 
 The lieutenant smiled quietly. " They who enter by 
 front doors do not always know who comes in at rear 
 ones," he said in a tone of apology. 
 
 My father rose and looked down on him. "Have 
 
IN THE BOUSE OF A TOBY 131 
 
 done with your riddles and insinuations," he said 
 sternly. "You are accusing me of something; out 
 with it, sir, out with it!" 
 
 The officer arose and faced my father. "I am sent, 
 sir," he said in a tone of sincere regret, "to accuse you 
 . of harboring a rebel spy. One is now under your roof. 
 The knowledge of our position would indeed be valu- 
 able to General Washington, but why should his spy 
 be protected by the roof of a stanch Tory ? " 
 
 My father's face grew purple with wrath. "Prove 
 your words," he cried, "or by — " Then he looked at 
 me and said, "Have Dame Barbara and the servants 
 summoned." 
 
 The servants with frightened faces filed into the 
 dining room, gleaming with its silver and clear candle- 
 lights. I watched Dame Barbara's face. It was, as 
 usual, passive, stern, and calm. My father put the 
 accusation to all the servants with a liohlike roar. 
 
 "Know ye aught of this, aught of this, any of ye?" 
 he thundered. 
 
 Banks stepped forth. "I heard a strange moaning 
 as I passed by the housekeeper's room to-night," she 
 said; "it sounded like a body in dire pain." 
 
 My father's falcon eye swept the circle of faces. * 
 
 "Dame," he said, "is.any of the household ill?" 
 
 "None, sir," she replied respectfully. 
 
 Then he turned to the men, putting them through a 
 series of sharp, searching questions which were an- 
 swered by truthful negatives. Cuthbert and I were 
 not questioned. 
 
 I stood quailing and terrified during the whole exami- 
 
138 LADS AND LASSIES OF OTHER DATS 
 
 nation, my eyes upon Cuthbert who, fearing to interrupt 
 my father, yet tapped his sword hilt impatiently, anxious 
 to be allowed to speak. With the last "No, sire," 
 of the butler, my cousin stepped forth and spoke in an 
 even, steady voice with a sidewise look at me which 
 plainly commanded, "Let me take the blame." 
 
 "Uncle," he said, "'twas I who brought a rebel lad 
 here to my home this morning." Then he told the whole 
 story, shielding me tenderly at every turn. 
 
 My father said not a word. Bis proud old head sank 
 to his breast. His eyes sought the ground. The hand 
 he reached forth to the table to steady himself trembled. 
 The silence was terrible. In every fiber I felt that 
 my cousin Cuthbert was being judged a traitor. 
 
 "Daddy," I cried softly, my voice frightening even 
 myself in that fearsome silence, "the lad was no rebel. 
 He was only a poor dying boy, and the gospel you read 
 at prayers this morning was that of the good Samaritan." 
 
 The officer gave me a long, shrewd look, and his 
 face lightened. 
 
 Dame Barbara stepped suddenly in front of my father. 
 "Master," she said in a trembling tone, "come with 
 me to the bed of the lad." 
 
 Seizing one of the tall candlesticks from the mantel, 
 she turned abruptly, we following, while the servants, 
 awed and frightened, stole back to their places in the 
 hall. Through the two great storerooms she led us, 
 to the little storeroom at the rear. In one corner, 
 in the dark shadow, on a low trundle-bed lay the rebel 
 boy, moaning in the delirium of fever. So young, so 
 emaciated, so piteous-looking, he was strange quarry 
 
IN THE HOUSE OF A TORT 139 
 
 for Lieutenant Grimshaw's hunting. Dame Barbara 
 stood above him, shading the candle gleam from his 
 face. 
 
 "He is my son," she said quietly, "and the young 
 master knew it. He is a patriot of this rebel land, 
 and his father was one before him. His father was 
 killed last year, and the lad took his place. I am a 
 Tory. When he deserted England and his king, I dis- 
 owned my boy. This morning I saw him pass with the 
 soldiers. I saw his naked, bleeding feet, as he marched 
 along; and yet, mother that I am, I let him go by 
 with a hardened heart because he bore arms against 
 his king. God judged me, sir, and gave me one more 
 chance. The young master found the lad where he 
 had lain him down to die, more wounded by his mother's 
 bitter looks, perhaps, than ever he could have been by 
 the king's bullets. I thanked God on my knees when 
 I found the lad in Master Cuthbert's bed. 'Twas no 
 rebel I saw lying there, dear Mistress Gladys, but my 
 own, my only son. Do with him what you will, — I 
 am still true to my king, — but let me nurse my boy 
 back to life! I am none the less his mother." 
 
 My father and the officer looked at each other; and 
 my father said, "Man, 'tis no rebel, that, but a sick lad, 
 and by my fealty to King George I'll succor him to 
 health." 
 
 The lieutenant stretched a hearty hand to my father. 
 "The lad may not escape the clutches of Death," he 
 claimed, "but egad, he's escaped mine! When 'he's 
 better, mount him and send him pacing after his ragged 
 compatriots. He'll gain no news beneath this roof. 
 
140 LADS AND LASSIES OF OTBEB DATS 
 
 And if England must war with a callow boy, it shall be 
 face to face in the ranks, and not in a trundle-bed ! " 
 
 Dame Barbara bowed and curtsied and kissed both 
 the officer's and my father's hands. As for Cuthbert 
 and me — we fled to the drawing-room, and there 
 we danced such a farandole as made the prisms of the 
 candlesticks jingle. 
 
 My father and the lieutenant finished dinner together, 
 and the lieutenant's horse was brought round. They 
 took leave of each other upon the porch; and I heard 
 my father say, "May the guidance of God let the right 
 win." 
 
 Weeks afterward, when the lad's illness was mended, 
 my father gave him a horse and he rode away. 
 
 Soon after, the struggle became bitter for us. The 
 Hessians made no headway 'gainst the barefoot patriots. 
 Cuthbert chafed and fumed about the house, but spoke 
 not a word of his longing to be in the fight. 
 
 At length, when the summer was glorious, my father 
 called me into the library one day, kissed me on the 
 forehead, and said softly: "Gladys, to-morrow Cuth- 
 bert rides away to serve his king under Lord Cornwallis. 
 The king needs him, and 'tis right that even he should 
 go. But, God be thanked, Gladys, that thou'rt a lass." 
 
THE BULB OF THE CRIMSON TULIP 
 
 The village of Newark lay dusty and dozing in the 
 hot sunshine of an early summer day. In the church 
 steeple the bell rang out three of the afternoon. 
 
 The broad highway was almost deserted, save for 
 a waddling flock of ducks crossing toward the wayside 
 brook, and an old man, with silvery gray locks neatly 
 tied in a queue, who leaned upon a garden wicket and 
 watched his opposite neighbor. 
 
 She was a little slip of a lass in a brown stuff dress 
 and plain cap, kneeling, trowel in hand, beside a bed 
 of, tulips which glowed scarlet and yellow and white 
 in the bright sunshine. Slowly and with infinite care, 
 she raised a beautiful crimson blossom from the mold 
 and transplanted it to a flowerpot. Then, rising with 
 the posy clasped in her arm, Margaret came down to 
 the gateway and looked anxiously up the Broad Street 
 of the Jersey town. 
 
 Grandpapa Davis nodded and smiled at her stand- 
 ing there, an erect, graceful little figure, with a look 
 of thoughtful care upon her face. The shadows of the 
 newly leaved trees blotched and flickered upon the 
 highway. Beyond lay the military green, with its 
 long rows of elms arching over a pathway; and out of 
 their shadowy distance appeared a gleam of scarlet, 
 
 141 
 
142 LADS AND LASSIES OF OTHER DATS 
 
 which proved to be a tall soldier walking slowly along, 
 flourishing his riding whip. Grandpapa Davis and 
 the little maid exchanged glances. His was one of deep 
 anxiety; hers of questioning fear. 
 
 Both thought instantly of the evening before, when 
 the roadway glimmered in faint starlight, and a wounded 
 rider crept up in the fragrant May darkness to the 
 cottage gate. There he was assisted from the horse 
 by women's hands and disappeared within the cottage, 
 bowered in its budding vines. Grandpapa recalled 
 Margaret, standing in the candlelight of his kitchen, 
 telling him her brother's story. The anxiety of a 
 woman replaced the pretty, roguish joking she was 
 wont to parry with him. 
 
 Mahlon Ross had ridden from Elizabethtown with a 
 cipher of importance from Maxwell of that place to 
 General Washington, lying at Morristown. While cross- 
 ing the Salt Meadows his horse had thrown him; arid 
 he was able to go forward only to his home, where he 
 arrived fainting in his saddle. 
 
 "Whom shall we trust to carry the papers onward?" 
 Margaret had asked the old man. 
 
 "Ford Halsey of the mill," he answered promptly. 
 "He is in York Town on business and will be back by 
 the coach to-morrow noon. Ford rides like the wind 
 and knows every byway as well as an Indian." 
 
 As Margaret watched the coming British soldier, she 
 anxiously scanned the highway beyond him in the direc- 
 tion of the Halseys' mill, whither her mother had ridden 
 to interview Ford. No welcome figures of horse and 
 rider appeared in the sunny loneliness of the broad 
 
THE BULB OF THE CRIMSON TULIP 14S 
 
 highway. A robin whistled in the tree top, the soldier 
 lounged slowly along, and drowsy silence reigned. 
 
 Her grandmother's gentle old face, framed in its cap 
 and kerchief, appeared above the blue half door. 
 
 "Margaret!" she called softly. 
 
 Margaret turned hastily. 
 
 "Dear heart," said the old woman, "it has just struck 
 three. What keeps thy mother?" 
 
 The little maid shook her head. 
 
 "Old Dobs sleeps and dreams with mother on his 
 back," she said. "Oh, I would that he felt my birch- 
 ing! If his lazy hoofs kept time to my heart beats 
 he would be here. Grandmother, is Mahlon safe, 
 lying in the stable loft? I see a redcoat yonder." 
 
 "Tut!" cried the old woman, sharply. "Even 
 the spring wind has ears in days like these ! Be mindful 
 of what thou sayest, my child!" 
 
 Then, seeing the flower, she exclaimed, "What art thou 
 doing, lass? Why hast thou potted a tulip to-day? " 
 
 " 'Twas promised to Cicely Halsey for this afternoon. 
 'Tis her birthday, and she admires this tulip. It is 
 most rare of color. I thought later to ride to the mill 
 to give it to her." 
 
 Her glance strayed from the blossom in her arms 
 to the soldier crossing the road. Then, with a thought 
 kindling in her face, she gave her grandmother a swift 
 look and fled, without another word, around the corner 
 of the house. Setting the tulip on the bench seat of 
 the rear porch, she went on to the barn, where her sick 
 brother lay concealed, and returned almost immedi- 
 ately with something clasped under her kerchief. One 
 
144 LADS AND LASSIES OF OTHER BATS 
 
 pull, and the tulip came out of the pot, the mold scat- 
 tering over the porch seat. Catching up a knife, she 
 parted the bulb in halves and hollowed out the centers. 
 In the bottom of the pot she placed a packet of paper 
 drawn from her bosom, and within the hollowed bulb 
 she hid the strip of precious cipher. With hands that 
 lost no time, she repotted the cherished flower, cleared 
 away the traces, and stood looking down upon it re- 
 gretfully. 
 
 "If any redcoat must have Mahlon's papers, I would 
 rather it were thee," she said, stroking a satin petal 
 of her tuhp. "I did so hate to wound thee — I who 
 nursed thee from a sprout ! " And with a little childish 
 quiver of the lips, she stooped and kissed the flower 
 before entering the house. 
 
 The grandmother sat knitting. 
 
 "I like not that redcoat soldier sniffing our lilac bushes 
 so closely," said Margaret. "I would mother were 
 returned ! But I have thought of a way to get the 
 papers to Ford under the very nose of the redcoat, 
 if need be — which God grant not! I fear there are 
 other soldiers of his kind in the village." 
 
 The old lady sighed and shook her head. " War breeds 
 old thoughts in young minds. 'Tis ill to judge the errand 
 of a man by the color of his coat, lass. For the papers, 
 I'll trust thy wit." 
 
 Margaret flitted restlessly from table to dresser. A 
 small chicken, under her skilled fingers, was soon bub- 
 bling in the pot. A head of lettuce lay crisply piled 
 on a dish, and out of the oven she drew a freshly baked 
 loaf. With her back to the doorway, she did not see 
 
THE BULB OF THE CRIMSON TULIP 145 
 
 a shadow fall across the sanded brick, as the redcoat 
 soldier, leaning his arms on the ledge of the half door, 
 looked keenly about the little kitchen. 
 
 "Lass!" cried his hearty voice, thick with the York- 
 shire accent, "thou seemest too busy even so much 
 as to hear soldier boots crunching thy dooryard gravel 
 — though I tried most manfully to steal a march on 
 thee, I'll confess." 
 
 Margaret turned and faced him steadfastly, while 
 the grandmother's knitting dropped to her lap at 
 the first sound of his voice. Neither spoke. "Hast 
 thou a well ? " he continued. "I'm fain to drink ! This 
 road tramping is churlish business. And ye have 
 churlish folk in this town. Faith, I've no opinion of 
 their eyes and ears ! General Knyphausen would 
 better have sent one of his own Hessians instead of us; 
 he had learned fully as much." 
 
 "Thou art from Yorkshire," said Grandmother Ross, 
 mildly. "Since thou art thirsty, wouldst thou drink 
 a glass of elder wine and eat a slice of rice cake made 
 after the fashion of the motherland?" 
 
 "Why, now!" — the broad red face glowed with 
 pleasure and astonishment — " that's the first civil 
 word I have heard this day! Madam, I do assure 
 you, that wakes the heart in me and makes me loath 
 to take thy hospitality and do my soldier's errand 
 here." 
 
 A flush of surprise almost matching the soldier's 
 had swept over Margaret's face at her grandmother's 
 words. But now she stepped forward courteously. 
 "Nay," she said, setting a rush-bottomed chair for him 
 
146 LADS AND LASSIES OF OTHER DAYS 
 
 in the cool breeze of the doorway, "thou mayst taste 
 my mother's wine, for thou art weary and a wayfarer. 
 Later, if needs must, we can talk of war." 
 
 The soldier dropped into the chair, with his clank- 
 ing spurs rattling on the bricks, and drank thank- 
 fully the great draught of water Margaret dipped from 
 the well-curb bucket and brought to him. 
 
 "Ah, that takes the blaze of the sun out of the 
 blood!" he said. His face softened as he watched her 
 prepare the cake and wine for him. 
 
 When she placed them before him, the grandmother 
 said gently, " 'Tis wine, sir, of the real English smack, 
 being a recipe of my mother's ; and I hope thou'lt like 
 the cake." 
 
 "I like them ay well," he growled, as the spicy wine 
 fell clearly into the glass, "but not to repay thee with 
 saucy questions." 
 
 The old woman sighed softly. "Sir, if saucy ques- 
 tions be thy duty, do not shirk aught of it. Hospitality 
 is a duty, too." 
 
 "I am looking for a lad who should have ridden by 
 here on a roan horse last eventide." 
 
 "One of thine own men?" asked Margaret, steadily, 
 though with an effort. 
 
 The soldier stared at her. 
 
 "Beshrew me, no," he said, laughing. "Do we way- 
 lay our own messengers?" 
 
 "Then art thou not tapping at folly's wicket to ask 
 us to betray ours?" she returned. 
 
 He surveyed her slowly, from the white cap to the 
 tiny buckled slippers, and said soberly, "Lass, all the 
 
THE BULB OF THE CRIMSON TULIP 147 
 
 folk of this town are not rebels ; neither must an answer 
 be always yea or nay to be useful." 
 
 While she set the plate and glass upon the dresser, 
 he stared gloomily out into the sunshine. 
 
 "Hast thou kith or kin fighting against the king?" 
 he asked. 
 
 "Yes," said Margaret, standing by her grandmother's 
 chair; "my father and my brother. Sir, had I seen 
 twenty horsemen riding by, thou knowest I would not 
 tell thee!" 
 
 He looked sharply at her again under his bushy 
 brows and shook his head. 
 
 "What if I tell thee I must search thy dwelling?" 
 he said, scanning her face. 
 
 "My grandmother is old, and I am young. Our doors 
 lie open to thee. Naught could hinder thee. Neither 
 of us would ask thee not to. If that be thy present 
 duty, follow it; yet it sets not well with thy question." 
 
 Margaret swung open the porch door, where the scarlet 
 tulip drooped its head ; and the soldier glanced past it, 
 beyond the double rows of tasseled currant bushes, to 
 the door of the little barn. A sound of hoof beats stop- 
 ping in front directed his glance to the highway again. 
 
 Dame Ross slowly dismounted from Old Dobs at 
 the horse block; and Margaret said, "It is my mother." 
 She glanced at her grandmother. "Mother has been 
 to mill, sir," she volunteered to the soldier. 
 
 "Thou ridest thine own grist to mill, eh?" he said, 
 with returning good humor. Then, as the dame put 
 out her hand for the heavy sack, he suddenly strode 
 down to the garden gate and, sweeping a low bow 
 
148 LADS AND LASSIES OF OTHER DAYS 
 
 to the startled woman, said, "May I not put this on 
 the kitchen floor for thee, or in the stable?" 
 
 Mrs. Ross turned herself to Dobs's bridle to hide the 
 deadly whiteness of her face. The soldier stood there, 
 smiling cheerfully. 
 
 "If thou wilt put the flour on the kitchen floor, I 
 will thank thee. It is much courtesj 7 from a stranger. 
 I knew not that my roof entertained a guest of thy 
 coat," she said at length. 
 
 "Nay, I'm not of thy convictions," laughed the 
 soldier, laying the sack upon his scarlet shoulder; 
 "but my mother taught me courtesy to a woman ere 
 the king taught me soldiering." 
 
 Margaret met her mother upon the threshold. "I 
 am so glad thou art come," she said, mutely reading 
 her face, as she laid her hand on her mother's bonnet 
 strings to undo them. "I feared I should not get to 
 Cicely's to drink birthday tea with her. Mother, our 
 guest is a wayfaring soldier." She looked at him 
 apologetically for this poor introduction. 
 
 The dame felt the scrutiny of a keen pair of eyes fixed 
 upon her face. 
 
 "Madam," he said, "my errand is to ask a question. 
 Hast thou seen a lad on a roan horse riding by thy 
 doorway?" 
 
 "Which way should the lad have been riding?" 
 asked the dame, tying on her house apron ; "for, though 
 the highway is a broad one, it leads as easily to Eliza- 
 bethtown as to Morristown. Riders choose both ways 
 to do their galloping. Dost thou take us for Tories, 
 to ask us such a question? I wonder at thee!" 
 
'Not so fast,' he said, smiling quizzically upon her." 
 
THE BULB OF THE CRIMSON TULIP 151 
 
 The soldier laughed restlessly. "I was not built 
 to prowl in cottage gardens," he said uneasily, picking 
 up his whip from the floor. 
 
 Margaret had slipped out and tethered Old Dobs 
 to the pear tree. Now she came in by the back 
 porch door, calmly carrying her potted crimson 
 tulip. 
 
 "Mother," she said, placing the flower upon the 
 table and reaching for her straw bonnet, "'tis late to 
 visit Cicely, but I think I will go, as I promised. I 
 see shower caps rising out of the west, and I want to 
 get the tulip there before the rain." 
 
 "'Tis a bonny flower," said the soldier, lifting the pot 
 and sniffing the blossom. "Dost thou ride to a birth- 
 day feast?" 
 
 "Only to carry a token to a friend," she replied, 
 looking wistfully up at him, standing there with the 
 tulip in his arms. 
 
 The dame had assented to Margaret's request, and 
 now sat down to her knitting. A waft of cool, scented 
 mountain air suddenly swayed the white curtain of a 
 west window. "I sniff a shower in that breeze," 
 said Margaret. "Sir, I must go. Good day to you;" 
 and she reached for her flower. 
 
 "Not so fast," he said, smiling quizzically upon her. 
 "I must go too. I shall seek no further in this town. 
 My question seems like saying, ' Dilly, Dilly, Dilly, come 
 and be killed.' Whither ridest thou, little hostess — 
 north or south? If north, I beg to go with thee. My 
 horse is tethered back of the church." 
 
 "I go north, sir," said Margaret, her eyes resting on 
 
152 LADS AND LASSIES OF OTHER DAYS 
 
 the flower, which drooped now on the soldier's broad 
 breast as he still retained it in his arms. 
 
 "North? That is well. Wilt thou point out the 
 turn to the Bloomfield road?" And he followed her 
 down the garden pathway. 
 
 "Gladly," said Margaret, as she mounted nimbly 
 to Old Dobs's back. "Tis only a bit beyond the mill 
 road. Sir, I can carry my tulip now." 
 
 "Thou wilt not have a redcoat cavalier, eh, to bear 
 it for thee?" he said, laughing, as he delivered the 
 precious pot into her outstretched hand. 
 
 Margaret grasped it, a wave of intense relief follow- 
 ing the tension of uncertainty of the last few minutes. 
 She pulled Dobs's bridle with a lighter heart, when a 
 loud whinny in the little stable beyond suddenly broke 
 the stillness. 
 
 The soldier turned his head and listened. In the 
 swift action lay so shrewd a suspicion that the little 
 heart beating behind the flowerpot stood almost still; 
 but the serene look in Margaret's eyes never wavered. 
 
 "I fear we shall soon have a shower," she said, 
 calmly meeting the soldier's gaze. "Dapple is whin- 
 nying, for he feels the thunder. Come, Dobs, thou must 
 do thine errand briskly, if thou wouldst not have a 
 wet skin." 
 
 She nodded to her mother and grandmother, and 
 the soldier took a gallant leave of them; then to- 
 gether they disappeared up the road in a cloud of sift- 
 ing golden dust. 
 
 The busy hoppers of the old mill hummed and sung 
 in the afternoon stillness. Cicely Halsey had moved 
 
THE BULB OF THE CRIMSON TULIP 153 
 
 ner flax wheel into a little arbor back in the mill garden, 
 whence she could overlook the stable yard and Ford, 
 who was sitting in a doorway, booted and spurred. 
 
 Suddenly up the road came Margaret riding Old 
 Dobs, who was taking long, surprised strides, such 
 as stirred in his dull brain certain memories of his 
 youth. With flushed cheeks and shining eyes, Margaret 
 ran up the garden path and, bursting into the little 
 arbor, flung the tulip upon the table. 
 
 "Where is Ford?" she cried. "Will he ride, Cicely? 
 Will he ride?" 
 
 "Will he ride?" said Cicely, in astonishment. "He 
 has been booted and spurred this half hour and waits 
 but the papers. Did not thy mother tell thee?" 
 
 Margaret shook her head and then, without a word, 
 wrenched the tulip from the pot. 
 
 "Why, now!" exclaimed Cicely. "What art thou 
 doing? That is my crimson tulip thou art tumbling 
 from the. pot! Is that the way — " 
 
 But Margaret was running stableward with the 
 stalkless bulb and a packet in her hands, leaving Cicely 
 speechless with dismay, surveying the dying flower 
 and the heap of dirt. 
 
 Ford, on receiving the papers, simply looked inside the 
 bulb and, with a shrewd, intelligent nod to Margaret, 
 slipped it into his pocket, mounted his horse, and rode 
 away. Margaret swung the barred gate behind him and 
 turned, to find Cicely at her elbow. A long, distant 
 roll of thunder sounded in the west. A gust of wind 
 swept the garden and puffed fragrantly into Margaret's 
 face. She turned to Cicely. 
 
154 LADS AND LASSIES OF OTHER DATS 
 
 " Thank God, Ford is gone ! " she said. " The English 
 evidently have learned that a messenger was sent with 
 important news to Morristown. More likely they also 
 know of Mahlon's hurt. A redcoat, looking, as I feared, 
 for his hiding place, came to the house this afternoon. 
 I thought he would search the place, and so I hid the 
 papers in thy flower, knowing I could get Grandpap 
 Davis to ride with them to thee, if worst came to worst. 
 Now I fear their return to take my brother prisoner. 
 They will if they find him. Nay, do not look so fright- 
 ened, Cicely. I saved the papers, and I must save 
 Mahlon. I saw a look in the soldier's eyes when Dapple 
 whinnied! The very roan he was so keen to find! 
 Thou seest I must pace it home, dear." 
 
 Dobs, wounded and puzzled at his mistress's heartless 
 urging of his lazy old legs, almost galloped to the home 
 door, and the thunder rolled and muttered. A grayness 
 had quenched the afternoon fight, and the hush that 
 preludes the storm lay over house and garden as Mar- 
 garet entered the kitchen. 
 
 "Ford is well on the way, and the papers with him," 
 she said, in answer to her mother's anguished glance. 
 "The soldier did not ride off with the tulip. But I 
 fear he will return. We must hide Mahlon in Grandpap 
 Davis's old sugar house, across the huckleberry swamp, 
 and tie Dapple in the clearing. Rain or not, ill or not, 
 Mahlon must go." 
 
 With the first big drops of the rain, the little train 
 set out across the fields; and as it poured down 
 faster and faster, all traces of Dapple's hoofs were 
 washed from the dusty pathway they had taken. In 
 
THE BULB OF THE CRIMSON TULIP 155 
 
 an hour the sick lad was under cover, and the shower 
 had passed. 
 
 The garden lay sweet and damp and dripping in the 
 evening twilight; and Margaret was stooping to raise 
 and bind back some storm-beaten sprays .of a rose- 
 bush, when at the gate five redcoat horsemen drew rein. 
 
 Margaret dropped her hammer in the mold. Inside 
 the doorway the grandmother never ceased her knitting, 
 and upon the porch appeared the dame's quiet figure. 
 The soldier of the afternoon came up the path, with his 
 companions following him. In her first keen glance at 
 him, Margaret saw how entirely he had become simply 
 an English soldier in discharge of his duty. 
 
 "I learn that the rider whom I seek lieth ill in this 
 cottage," he said sternly. "Dame, I must search 
 this dwelling." 
 
 '"Tis easy to war on women," she answered, sighing. 
 
 The soldier glanced at Margaret. "They shall do 
 no more than is needful," he promised. 
 
 Margaret waited in the porch. She heard them clank 
 their way across the kitchen floor. The rough soldier 
 voices rose and fell; and then she heard her mother's 
 quiet, clear tones. Both stalls in the stable were empty, 
 for Dobs was out in the pasture with Grandpapa Davis's 
 old roadster. The hay where Mahlon lay, Margaret's 
 own arms had retossed. The fireflies began to twinkle 
 in the garden ere the search was given up. 
 
 Then the soldiers rounded the house corner; and 
 Margaret, sitting on the step, arose. The tall soldier 
 stopped, while his companions strolled on to the gate, 
 plucking flowers. 
 
156 LADS AND LASSIES OF OTHER DATS 
 
 "I did not find thy brother," he said gravely, "and 
 perchance thou knowest why. If his hurt was slight, 
 no doubt he rides to Morristown. Thou art a brave 
 little woman. Wilt thou bid me good night ? " He put 
 out his hand, and Margaret took it heartily. 
 
 The dispatches were safely delivered by Ford's hand 
 to Washington as the General was about to journey to 
 Springfield; and Mahlon, recovering, soon rode Dapple 
 back to his post. 
 
 Three years later, Margaret stood beside her brother 
 in New York City and watched the British troops leav- 
 ing the country. Suddenly a soldier in the marching 
 ranks caught sight of her sober little face, and his bright 
 smile of recognition brought an answering flash from 
 her. 
 
 It was the tall redcoat; and Margaret's friendly lit- 
 tle hand waving to him as he left her shores gave token 
 that kinship of heart had wiped out remembrance of 
 that sharp peril which had rent in twain the bulb of 
 the crimson tulip. 
 
THE LEGS OF DUNCAN KETCHAM 
 
 Word had gone forth that the treaty with England 
 was signed, and that the British would surely leave New 
 York. 
 
 Upon reception of the glad news, thousands of exiles 
 who had been driven from their homes during the British 
 occupation began a general return, jostling at the wharves 
 and wayside inns other thousands of Tories fleeing to 
 British soil. 
 
 On a drizzling November evening, in the year of our 
 Lord, 1783, the old Fraunce's Tavern, which stood at the 
 corner of Broad and Pearl streets, was in an unusual 
 state of excitement. Carriages of all sorts came and 
 went, after depositing guests at the great corner door; 
 and window after window of all its four stories sent the 
 glimmer of candlelight abroad on the moist darkness. 
 
 Within, in the great kitchens, rush and bustle pre- 
 vailed ; great fires roared up their chimneys ; there were 
 fragrant odors of cooking, the creaking of meat jacks, 
 laughter and quick jokes as men and maids rushed past 
 each other in the hurry of service, and a general enjoy- 
 ment of the unusual stir. 
 
 The housekeeper, Dame Ketcham, and her fifteen-year- 
 old daughter, Betty Ketcham, had their hearts and hands 
 full. Betty served upstairs at the linen presses, giving 
 out bed linen and candles to the excited housemaids, 
 
 157 
 
158 LADS AND LASSIES OF OTHER DATS 
 
 while Dame Ketcham on the ground floor kept a sharp 
 eye to the dining room and its busy waiters. She was 
 giving directions to a clumsy maid, when suddenly her 
 ear caught the sound of a new arrival in the entrance 
 hall; and the name shouted out to the landlord by the 
 door lackey caused every bit of color to leave her face. 
 She hurried to the back hall entrance. Her ears had not 
 deceived her. The heavy, broad-faced gentleman in 
 the act of rolling jovially across the hallway to greet 
 the landlord was none other than Captain Jonas Talbot, 
 of the private merchantman, the Jolly Sally; and after 
 an absence of six years the Jolly Sally was at length in 
 port. This was news indeed for Dame Ketcham, since 
 her only son was a sailor lad on the ship. 
 
 On his way upstairs, Captain Jonas passed Betty on 
 the upper landing; and he responded so kindly to her 
 nervous curtsy that she said in a low voice, "Welcome 
 home, sir; and please, sir, when does Duncan leave 
 ship?" 
 
 "At eight to-night," replied Duncan's captain. 
 
 Betty rushed for her mother's sitting room and entered 
 it at one door as the dame, puffing heavily, entered at 
 the other. 
 
 They fell into each other's arms and shed a few tears 
 of relief and joy, for great had been their fear lately 
 that the Jolly Sally was lost ; then the dame bethought 
 herself of ways and means. 
 
 " Duncan will have to sleep in thy room, lass, and thou 
 must e'en bunk in with me. To think of laying eyes 
 on him so soon, after such weary waiting ! I can hardly 
 bide. I wish the guests were not so greatly on my 
 
THE LEGS OF BUN CAN KETCH AM 159 
 
 mind, this night of his home-coming. Sakes, with 
 everybody in the town running homeward, little did I 
 think my own lad would come too ! At eight o'clock, 
 said the captain ! 'Tis now past five. 
 
 " Everything happens in a heap. First we had to clean 
 after the Tories who left us, box and bundle, to fly to 
 king's soil in Canada; then come our own good Whigs 
 rushing back to New York and filling every nook and 
 cranny of this tavern; and last comes the Jolly Sally 
 back from the wild seas with my boy once more ! I fear 
 I shall not live with it all!" 
 
 Betty laughed and poked the fire. "Thou'lt five fast 
 enough, mother, with the thought of Duncan to stay 
 thee! Sit by, till I brew thee a cup of tea; thou art 
 heavy to be on thy feet so much. Dost thee know, 
 mother, that General Washington has given it out, 
 on his own word, that every man-jack of a redcoat and 
 Hessian is to leave us for good, on the twenty-fifth?" 
 
 "I'm getting gray with wishing to see that," grumbled 
 the dame. " 'Tis well it has been put off so long, though, 
 now that Duncan will be home to see the sight. Sakes, 
 but I'm weary of the British, and that shameful, cruel 
 man, the Provost Cunningham! We've none of us 
 had a free foot or hand or mouth here since seventy- 
 six. And lately 'tis rumored they are ay going, but 
 they never go ! On the twenty-fifth, say you ? God 
 speed the day!" 
 
 "They be surely going, mother. The Continentals 
 are camped up at MacGowan's Pass, ready to march 
 in 'at the word; the British war ships and transports 
 he down the harbor, and wilt thou not be glad that 
 
160 LABS AND LASSIES OF OTHER BATS 
 
 Duncan's at home to see his own flag flying from the 
 fort? And, mother, Shannah Merrick burnt holes in 
 three sheets this week in the ironing." 
 
 This sudden switch in Betty's mind from patriotism 
 to household detail stirred the dame to activity again, 
 and both departed to their duties. 
 
 A short distance from the Battery, rolling gently 
 on the black bay water, lay the huge, dim hulk of the 
 Jolly Sally. Her decks were slippery with rain, and her 
 cordage rattled and creaked in the wind. 
 
 With his eyes fixed toward the mass of black shape- 
 lessness which meant New York and home to him, 
 Duncan Ketcham, with his boxes lying beside him, 
 impatiently awaited the signal that the boat was ready 
 to take him ashore. He had shore leave for five days; 
 and his long, gaunt body fairly shook with eagerness 
 to be at home on his own soil once more. 
 
 At length the signal came; and after a lurching trip 
 through the darkness to a landing at Whitehall, he leaped 
 to shore and ran up the dark streets, gloomier for the 
 shadow of Fort George, till with thumping heart 
 he reached Fraunce's Tavern. 
 
 In at the doorway, up the stair, to the left, and down 
 two steps he plunged and fetched a resounding whack 
 upon his mother's door. He had meant to tap softly, 
 and the blow of his own fist frightened him. 
 
 Betty flung the door wide, and at the same instant 
 seized him in a choking embrace ; then she pushed him 
 toward the dame, who wept and hugged him, with cries 
 over his altered looks. There was firelight, candle- 
 light, a hot supper laid, a cozy chair, slippers waiting 
 
THE LEGS OF DUNCAN KETCHAM 161 
 
 beside the fire, and two tear-wet faces beaming wel- 
 come. Ah, it was home ! The kind of home which love 
 makes of the humblest spot. 
 
 After an hour of asking and answering eager ques- 
 tions, Duncan said soberly, "The lads on board the 
 Jolly Sally are saying we're home just in time to see 
 the British take ship." 
 
 "Sure, sure! Why, away on salt seas as thou hast 
 been, thou knowest nothing at all, thou poor baby!" 
 crooned his mother. "Aye, the war's over, and there's 
 been but little fighting since Yorktown. The British, 
 howsomever, do mortally hate to leave American soil. 
 Thou art come, my laddie, just in time to see the Union 
 Jack come down, and the Stars and Stripes go up." 
 
 "And, oh, there's to be doings, Duncan dear," con- 
 tinued Betty: "first there's to be a procession of our 
 own troops from MacGowan's Pass, where they now 
 lie, to Fort George. They'll march right down the 
 Bowery. Only think how they'll feel marching back 
 where they were once cast out ! When the redcoats are 
 out of the fort, in go we, and up goes our flag. Then 
 will independence be no longer a word, but a fact, please 
 God!" 
 
 Duncan's eyes slowly filled. "Mother," he said, 
 "thou knowest when father died, 'twas his wish that 
 I follow the sea as he and grandfather did afore me. 
 I'm a sailor, of sailor folk ; but I wish this night with all 
 my heart that I had fought under the flag to make my 
 land a separate nation ! I wish I had been in one fight 
 for freedom!" 
 
 "Hear the sprat prate !" said his mother with scorn, 
 
162 LADS AND LASSIES OF OTHER DATS 
 
 but winking away the tears which showed her heart's 
 sympathy. "Thou couldst have been in the fight all 
 right, and shot down by British lead all right, as well: 
 thou, that art the only son of a widowed mother ! Just 
 the same, my laddie Duncan, I wish myself thou hadst 
 had a crack at the fighting, though thou be a long- 
 legged sprat. 'Tis time we were away to our beds; 
 'tis very late." 
 
 Next morning Duncan's boxes were overhauled; and 
 his mother cried out in one breath with motherly pity 
 at sight of his clumsy, badly darned socks, while in 
 the next she held up a bit of coral jewelry or a silken 
 shawl, with exclamations of surprise and pleasure. 
 
 Duncan could not finger long within doors ; his lungs 
 craved fresh air; his feet, restrained so long to ship's 
 decks, longed to stray abroad ; and in a short time he was 
 roaming about the town, scanning the City Hall, used 
 by the British as a prison, and the Provost jail, with no 
 particularly friendly glances. He revisited one spot 
 after another, which had been familiar to his childhood. 
 
 As he was sauntering down Murray Street a peculiar 
 whistle, a common call of the school playground, caught 
 his ear. He turned curiously; and there, standing in 
 the doorway of a grocer's shop, was Andy Carew, an old 
 schoolmate. '"Tis really Duncan,"' he cried out; 
 "I was not so very sure of it, but I could not doubt the 
 legs ! Such long legs and arms, thought I, can belong 
 to none other than Duncan Longlegs!" 
 
 Duncan grinned upon hearing the old nickname, to 
 wipe out which he had fought so many pitched battles, 
 and came toward Andy with outstretched hands. 
 
THE LEGS OF DUNCAN KETCH AM 16S 
 
 "Let's have a grip of your paw, Andy ! How are you, 
 old man ? I'm pleased to see you, for yours is the first 
 known face I've met." 
 
 "Bless my heart, if it be not Duncan Ketcham!" 
 called a hearty voice from the interior of the little shop ; 
 and Mistress Carew, bustling forth, greeted Duncan 
 warmlj and drew him into her little back sitting room. 
 
 "Take the chair by the fire. My, but thou hast got 
 the coat of sea tan upon thy face ! Been twice around 
 the world, I may well suppose, and seen grand places. 
 Tell me, now, which of all is the grandest?" 
 
 "New York," fervently replied Duncan. 
 
 " Away with thee ! This British-ridden hole ! But we'll 
 soon change that. Now, taste this jam and these cakes. 
 Thou got no better than these in any port whatsoever, 
 in the round world, say I. 'Tis as well, too, lad, that 
 thou hast been in heathen parts, cruising with old Talbot, 
 instead of lying here in these hells of prison ships, where 
 our men have died like vermin! I'm glad thou wast 
 not on the Jersey, for instance. 'Tis enough to wring 
 tears from a stone image to think how our men were 
 abused ! Now, hark ye : — I was born in old England, 
 and I dearly love her; and the day will surely come 
 when she'll think shame of the deeds misguided men 
 have done in her name in this land. It's not so much 
 England that God will judge, as that Provost-Marshal 
 Cunningham, ill jail keeper that he is! I can scarce 
 keep my hands from the tail of his wig when he strides 
 by our shop here, as if he, and not King George, were 
 ruler of Britain! Dost thou see what I'm making? 
 Thou knowest thine own flag, I hope. 'Tis a world o' 
 
164 LADS AND LASSIES OF OTSER DAYS 
 
 work to set these stars flat and shapely. It's to fly over 
 our shop door on the morning the redcoats for the last 
 time turn tail to the advance of General Washington 
 and take to the high seas for their health." She laughed 
 and took breath. 
 
 "I'll be here to raise it," cried Duncan. 
 
 "Aye, do come; we'll fly it under the Provost's very 
 nose, arid 'twill be a hearty token of farewell to hirn 
 when he sets forth to ship." 
 
 The shop bell tinkled; some moments later Master 
 Carew in white apron and spectacles entered the little 
 back room. He greeted Duncan, and then turning to 
 his wife began doubtfully, "The English officer in lodg- 
 ings opposite, the tall one, who is such a strong friend 
 to Cunningham, is dead, very suddenly." 
 
 "And small wonder," retorted his wife, with a sour 
 face, "when ye think on his habits." 
 
 "True," continued Master Carew; "but ye also mind 
 his little maid, Cicely. She and her serving lass are left 
 all alone there. She's a bit of a maid, scarce twelve, 
 and there's none to comfort her. His Tory friends 
 are all fled away, and few English women are to be 
 found." 
 
 "I'll have ye understand, good man, ye're looking 
 straight at as good an English woman as ever drew 
 breath, and it's not Eunice Carew will see any little 
 maid in sorrow — and 'twere old Cunningham's own 
 daughter ! What's to do ? " 
 
 "The serving lass says the maid's in a fever of sorrow 
 and terror. Cunningham will look to the father's 
 bestowal, but she can get no one to man a boat to take 
 
THE LEGS OF DUNCAN KETCH AM 165 
 
 them to Staten Island, where the child has Whig rela- 
 tives." 
 
 "There's my boat," said Andy, promptly. 
 
 "And the morning long I've been aching to get my 
 hand to tiller again," said Duncan. 
 
 "There be two lads who need no poking in the ribs 
 to do a neighborly deed ! I'll read the whole neighbor- 
 hood a screed, if they lift voice against a kindness done 
 to an innocent maid, because her dead father was 
 Cunningham's friend: we Americans have suffered 
 enough ourselves to know the feeling of pain!" 
 
 And the neighborhood did look suspiciously upon 
 Mistress Carew's patriotism, till that coming hour, 
 when she allayed its doubts forever. 
 
 Early, upon the morning of the 25th of November, 
 all New York was astir ; and breakfasts were dispatched 
 by candlelight, that men, women, and children might 
 the sooner finish necessary work, don holiday gear, 
 and be abroad to see the town transformed from a Brit- 
 ish garrison to an American city, albeit a poor city. 
 A nation was about to claim its own. 
 
 Within Fort George upon the Battery, a subdued 
 bustle of departure held sway; but still at full mast 
 upon the parade ground, the Union Jack flapped its 
 folds to the strong breeze which blew over the water. 
 For many years that flag had flapped in the breeze. 
 
 Betty had been one of the earliest risers in Fraunce's 
 Tavern; but early as she was, Duncan was earlier, 
 and her knock upon his door elicited no response. He 
 and Andy Carew were fastening a flagstaff and rigging 
 tackle over the doorway of the Murray Street shop. 
 
166 LADS AND LASSIES OF OTHER DAYS 
 
 Holiday crowds thronged Queen and Wall streets 
 soon after eight o'clock ; the Continentals were expected 
 to pass through those streets on their way to Fort 
 George. It was supposed that the British would be- 
 gin to leave soon after daybreak, and the Americans 
 hoped to be in the fort before nine o'clock; but it fell 
 out otherwise. Restless and impatient, the crowd 
 surged to and fro, and the British flag still flung its 
 folds to the wind. 
 
 Duncan and Andy shifted their places from street 
 to street till they began to weary. 
 
 "There's one American flag flying in the town any- 
 way, Duncan," crowed Andy, as they turned their 
 steps toward Murray Street. "Come home and let us 
 get a bit to eat. The redcoats won't stir till noon. 
 They're baiting us, the tormentors! "lis their last 
 whack ! " 
 
 As the boys turned into Murray Street, they observed 
 with pride the bright little flag waving from its staff. 
 It was then but shortly after ten o'clock. 
 
 Entering the shop, they found Master Carew, with 
 pursed-up lips, sitting upon one of his flour sacks, watch- 
 ing the door. "Come here," he cried to the boys, 
 "I thought you might be the enemy himself! They 
 have carried the news to the Provost that I am flying 
 the Stars and Stripes, and I'm looking for a little visit 
 from him. The good wife's upstairs. Women have 
 no place in a fray." 
 
 Andy glanced thoughtfully from his phlegmatic 
 father to the ceiling from which the swish of his mother's 
 broom could be plainly heard, and then said : ' Father, 
 
THE LEGS OF DUNCAN RETCBAM 167 
 
 I trust Cunningham will not outargue thee. Thou art 
 a peaceful man, not giving blows suddenly." 
 
 "Blows!" roared the old man. "Let him dare 
 offer blows to an American citizen ! " 
 
 "Or an insult to the American flag! Ye see we've 
 taken our chances, father. The flag still flies at Fort 
 George, and the city is in the hands of the British." 
 
 "That's a true word," said Master Carew, rubbing his 
 chin. 
 
 Provost Cunningham was habitually a late riser; 
 and he did not alter his habits upon this particular 
 morning, because he expected before nightfall to be at 
 sea on a British man-o'-war. 
 
 He heard the morning's gossip from his servant, 
 listening with a sour face, which crimsoned to wrath 
 when he learned of the flag flying in Murray Street. 
 
 "I'll read that Yankee grocer one last lesson," he 
 roared, making frantic grabs for his hat and stick. 
 "He will, will he? He dares to flaunt his upstart rag 
 under the flag of Britain! I'll smite him, alone and 
 single-handed! Kindness to Colonel Culpepper's child, 
 forsooth! What's that to do with arrogance and 
 treason ? Stand out of my way ! " 
 
 He stormed across Broadway and down Murray 
 Street. By the time he reached Master Carew's door, 
 he was boiling with rage. Swearing violently, he stood 
 beneath the flag and shook his fist up at it. 
 
 Master Carew appeared in his doorway, and the full 
 tide of the Provost's abuse was directed upon him. 
 
 "Pull it down," he roared; "the city belongs to the 
 British till noon ! " 
 
168 LADS AND LASSIES OF OTHER DATS 
 
 "It is up to stay," retorted Grocer Carew. 
 
 "You are flying it on British soil, and I am no traitoi 
 to wink at such an act. Down with this flag, I say ! — 
 down ! — or I will pull it down with my own hands. 
 Are you better than your own general, who has the 
 decency to wait until the fort is evacuated?" 
 
 "Since you state it that way, perhaps in deference 
 to General Washington, I might furl it temporarily," 
 pompously began Master Carew; but his sentence was 
 never finished, for suddenly Mistress Carew swept 
 through the doorway, pushed the good man aside, and 
 faced the Provost. 
 
 "The flag will not be furled," she said calmly. "'Tis 
 up to stay up. Just content yourself for an hour or 
 two till 'tis time to pull your own down. These colors 
 are not to be struck on their own soil. You're standing 
 on Yankee dirt, my man; ye'U mind my words." She 
 leaned upon her broom handle and regarded the Provost 
 with dignity. He was purple in the face and speechless 
 with fury. The flag hung somewhat low over the shop 
 door, and the Provost was a tall man. He twisted his 
 great fist into one corner of it to give it a mighty, ripping 
 jerk — but quicker than his jerk was the swift and 
 downward thwack of the broom upon his head. The 
 powder of his wig flew in a cloud from it, and the Provost 
 saw stars. Then it was that the neighborhood, peering 
 from behind curtain and blind, vindicated Mistress 
 Carew's patriotism. 
 
 Staggering back, he turned upon Mistress Carew; 
 but the broom confronted him. 
 
 "Go to your ship, ye old reprobate, and thank God 
 
THE LEGS OF DUNCAN KETCHAM 
 
 169 
 
 if it does not sink with ye, who have done such evil 
 in the sight of Him. Go, I say! for with every word 
 against that flag, ye'll feel the thump of my besom over 
 your head! Good day to you!" 
 
 The Provost, seeing two tall lads with twitching 
 fists standing directly back of the broom, picked up his 
 hat, set his wig straight, and departed, muttering. 
 
 // -'% 
 
 'He twisted his great fist into one corner of it to give 
 it a mighty, ripping jerk." 
 
 Shortly after noon, a British staff officer reported to 
 General Washington that the rear guard of the British 
 army was embarking at the Battery. The American 
 column then moved down the Bowery to Cape's Tavern, 
 
170 LADS AND LASSIES OF OTHER DAYS 
 
 where a line was formed, and they stood at "parade rest,' 
 while the main guard marched down Broadway to Fort 
 George, amidst throngs of joyous, excited people. The 
 troops marched with the easy swing of old campaigners; 
 and although their uniforms were tarnished and shabby, 
 their faces shone with soldierly pride and the happiness 
 which comes with hard-won victory. 
 
 As the guard passed into the old fort, the scene was 
 most impressive. In the upper bay, just off the Battery, 
 stately war ships lay at anchor, while their boats, 
 loaded to their gunwhales with redcoated grenadiers 
 and bluecoated mercenaries, were slowly moving away 
 from the landing. In a short time the fleet would set 
 sail for England. 
 
 Fort George, for so many years a British garrison, 
 had lain empty and waiting, as the long line of British 
 boats slowly crept from the shore, and the main guard 
 of Washington's troops approached to take final pos- 
 session. 
 
 An artillery officer, charged with the duty of hoisting 
 the Stars > and Stripes, entered the inclosed parade 
 ground, where the tall flag pole stood in full view of all 
 on-lookers. Instead of the ascending American flag, 
 which was looked for so expectantly, the mast remained 
 bare; and the young officer returned to the outer gate- 
 way with chagrin written upon his face. The flag pole 
 had been soaped, the halyards cut, and the cleats knocked 
 off and destroyed. The purpose was evident ; no Ameri- 
 can flag should wave over British defeat as their boats 
 went down the harbor. Thus the British had decreed. 
 
 The cheated Americans determined otherwise. Dun- 
 
'Cheek after cheek greeted htm: as he at lehuih beached the 
 
 TOP." 
 
THE LEGS OF DUNCAN KETCHAM 173 
 
 can, in his sailor's suit, caught some one's eye, and he 
 was rapidly shoved forward. 
 
 "Climb the pole, Longlegs," cried the impatient voice 
 of a neighbor. 
 
 Duncan tried, clinging to the slippery pole with all his 
 trained might, but in vain. 
 
 " Come with me to Goelet's hardware shop in Hanover 
 Square," cried Andy's voice ; he was really shouting only 
 at Duncan, but a crowd took to heels at the suggestion 
 and lost no time on their errand. Back they came, 
 headed by Andy, and laden with hammers, saws, strips 
 of wood, new halyards, and other necessary materials. 
 
 While some sawed and split wood into cleats, others 
 bored holes in them. 
 
 Duncan wrapped the new halyards about his wrist, 
 took a bundle of cleats over his shoulder, filled his pockets 
 with nails, and, holding a hammer for use, began an 
 ascent by nailing the cleats to the left and right of him 
 as he went up. Cheer after cheer greeted him as he at 
 length reached the top, strung the halyards, and made 
 everything ready for the raising of the flag. 
 
 The Stars and Stripes reached the top of the mast; 
 a salute of thirteen guns, fired from their own pieces, 
 reached the ears of the discomfited British ; and the flag 
 of the young nation floated before their angry eyes as 
 New York went wild with joy. 
 
 Duncan related his exploit to his mother beside their 
 sitting-room fire that night. 
 
 "Well done, lad," she cried out heartily. "Thou 
 never had a chance to fight for thy flag, but thou hast 
 kept it from shame this first day of its victory; and 
 
174 LADS AND LASSIES OF OTHER DATS 
 
 God be thanked for thy sea training and thy long 
 legs." 
 
 On the following day, since his leave was at an end, 
 Duncan was rowed out to the Jolly Sally; and there 
 he found his nickname, Longlegs, no longer a jest, but 
 a matter of lasting honor to him, from the captain 
 down to the cook. And the solid tokens of the cook's 
 esteem were as soothing to his stomach as were the cap- 
 tain's gruff commendations to his happy, boyish heart. 
 
 Upon the morning of December 6, the Jolly Sally was 
 once more to set sail ; and upon the evening of the fifth, 
 Captain Talbot gave Duncan three hours' leave in which 
 to take farewell of his mother and sister. 
 
 Dame Ketcham was torn between her sorrow at part- 
 ing with her son again and her pride in what had be- 
 fallen her children. 
 
 "For 'twas Betty herself served General Washington 
 and his officers yesterday in the great parlor ; aye, 'twas 
 sad to see the way they took on, parting from one another. 
 'Twas the rending asunder of a deep, deep tie. I'll 
 ne'er forget it! His words were that beautiful that I 
 cried salt tears in the little pantry. And when all the 
 men shook hands with him and he looked so tenderly 
 upon each one, I was fain to run away for sobbing. 
 
 "They all cried, too, God bless their men's hearts ! — 
 and then he left us. He walked out quietly between 
 two files of his soldiers, and not a dry eyelash to one of 
 them, and took his way with his generals to Whitehall. 
 A boat met him there, and he left New York. 
 
 "Duncan, lad, consider it well. Thou standest in 
 the day of history. The Jolly Sally sailed into a British 
 
THE LEGS OF DUNCAN KETCH AM 175 
 
 port and sails out of an American one. Thou hast a 
 country of thine own ; and if more fighting is to be done 
 to prove it, thou shalt fight, though thou be my only 
 son." 
 
 When years later, as an old woman, Dame Ketcham 
 embraced Duncan after he had won honors in the War 
 of 1812, she laughed as she declared, "I'm proud of ye, 
 my son, but not so proud as I was on the day thy long 
 legs helped to hoist the flag above Fort George." 
 
GLOSSARY 
 
 besom, broom. 
 
 benison, blessing. 
 
 billet, p. 110, a small log or stick of wood. 
 
 billeted, p. 110, labeled or ticketed, this word billet meaning ticket. 
 
 The corn sacks were billeted, each with its owner's ticket. 
 bonnet, a name often given to a boy's close-fitting cloth cap. This 
 
 cap was ordinarily of Scotch style ; in Scotland, bonnet being 
 
 the common name for a man's headgear. To bonnet, to put 
 
 on a head covering ; applied to either sex. 
 byre, the old-country name for a cow shed. 
 calash, a, lady's hood, pumpkin-shaped, which, when worn, could 
 
 be thrown forward or back like the top of the carriage called 
 
 camlet, a kind of cloth much in use for the thick cloaks of earlier 
 fashions. It was woven usually of goat's hair and silk. 
 
 cassowary, see sampler. 
 
 clean of limb, p. 21, a phrase applied to men or lads who bore 
 themselves gracefully and were well or slenderly built. 
 
 cleats, -wooden crosspieces extending from a pole (the flagstaff) 
 on either side to form a ladder. 
 
 cock-and-bull story, a story so exaggerated and improbable that no 
 one will believe it. The phrase probably once alluded to some 
 old fable or to a story in which a cock and a bull were made 
 to act with raore than animal intelligence. 
 
 coil, entanglement, perplexity., ot mesh. 
 
 cosset, noun : a pet lamb ; therefore, verb : to pet and fondle. 
 
 cricket, a low, three-legged stool, usually of wood. 
 
 doubloon, a Spanish and Spanish-American gold coin worth, in the 
 first half of the eighteenth century, about $8.24. Captain Kidd 
 (p. 30) had in all probability robbed a Spanish merchantman. 
 
 Embrasured window, a window having a deep window seat formed 
 by a thick house wall. 
 
 fairing, an old word now rarely heard. It is derived from the old- 
 
 177 
 
l78 GZOSSABY 
 
 country fair, a place for buying and selling home products. 
 A man's money taken home from his sale made at a fair, or 
 presents bought with such money, alike received the name of 
 fairing. 
 
 farandole, a dance common in the south of France. It is a symbol 
 of common rejoicing and good fellowship. It is danced by 
 two or by any number of persons in a circle facing alternately 
 in and out and joining hands, and by the rapid performance 
 of these motions making various figures. 
 
 foot valance. Valance was the name given to a drapery, usually 
 white, which extended from the edges of a bed to the flpor. 
 As bed curtains also were called valances, the former drapery 
 was distinguished as foot valance. 
 
 haled, an old form of the word hauled. 
 
 halyards, a rope or tackling used for hoisting or lowering sails or 
 flags. 
 
 harked back, a hunting phrase, referring to the cries used to call 
 the hounds back to the starting place for a fresh start. It 
 came to mean any fresh start or going back again to anything 
 once left. 
 
 hopper, a receptacle or box usually funnel-shaped, with an open- 
 ing at the lower part for delivering or feeding the whole grain 
 down to the grindstones. 
 
 ilk. In the old days of England, the phrase " of that ilk," used 
 after a person's surname, denoted that his name and the title 
 of his estate were the same. The word itself meant same, and 
 later was wrongly but commonly used to mean sort or kind. 
 See p. 27. The expression is seldom seen in modern English. 
 
 kirtle, an outer petticoat, also a mantle or cloak. 
 
 lattice, a window. The windows of olden days were set to open 
 inward like double doors. The panes were set in a lattice- 
 work made of wood or metal, crossing diagonally to make a 
 diamond-shaped pattern. 
 
 lavender spears, the dried blossoms of an English plant whose 
 flowers grow in narrow, spear-shaped clusters. They have 
 a pungent, lasting perfume and are used for scenting linen. 
 
 leal, a Nbi-th English and Scotch form of the word loyal. It means 
 also faithful, honest, true. 
 
GLOSSARY 179 
 
 lubber, a heavy, clumsy, awkward fellow. 
 
 masque, an entertainment of any sort given at a pleasure gathering. 
 Originally, the players, called mummers, were masked; and 
 their name was suggested by the mumbling sound caused by 
 talking behind the mask. 
 
 moccasins, shoes commonly worn by the Indians. They were 
 made of deerskin or other soft leather. 
 
 moppet, a rag baby or a puppet made of cloth ; but used also as a 
 term of endearment for a baby girl or a woman. 
 
 mummers, see masque. 
 
 paddock, a small farm inclosure, usually a pasture, near a stable. 
 It was used for keeping the animals in safety. 
 
 panniers, a pair of baskets slung across a beast of burden, to carry 
 provisions or other goods. 
 
 pillion, a pad or cushion put behind the man's saddle, on which 
 the woman rode. Before carriages were generally used this 
 was the common way for women to go about with their hus- 
 bands, fathers, brothers, or other relatives. 
 
 pot cheesing, an old-time children's pastime, particularly for girls. 
 This consisted of a rapid whirling of the body till the skirts, 
 which were worn very full, flew out when the player sud- 
 denly stopped. The effect was to balloon out the skirts to 
 resemblance of a pot cheese, a kind of cheese made of milk 
 curds. 
 
 sampler, a piece of embroidery considered a very necessary part of 
 a young girl's education. Usually, it was a square of canvas 
 to be cross-stitched with silk or wool in alphabetical forms 
 and figures. Besides, these samplers were worked in odd 
 designs of houses, trees, bird's, and animals. The cassowary, 
 an East Indian bird somewhat resembling the ostrich, was 
 one of these designs. 
 
 screed, a loud or high-pitched scolding or harangue. To read one 
 a screed was to lecture one seriously. 
 
 settle, a wooden bench made with a very high back, used in or 
 near the fireplace. 
 
 shoon, old plural for shoe. 
 
 side lights of the door. In the old houses, the hallways were very 
 wide ; and on either side the broad hall door were built long. 
 
180 GLOSSARY 
 
 narrow windows, paned with glass. These were called side- 
 lights. 
 
 Sieur, a title of respect much used in old times by the French, but 
 now in use only in their law practice. 
 
 sluice, an artificial passage for water fitted with a valve or a gate. 
 In the mill (p. 109) the sluices led the water over the wheel 
 when the corn was to be ground. By closing the sluices, the 
 wheel would be stopped and the grinding would cease. 
 
 smitch, small portion, bit. Instead of " a good bit," the old form 
 was " a good smitch." 
 
 stinting, doing a certain amount of work set down for one as a 
 task. A word much used in old days, especially by young 
 girls at their sewing. 
 
 stunt pines, dwarf pine trees, two to five feet in height. They 
 abound on sandy strips near water. 
 
 tally sticks, pieces of wood upon which notches were cut to show 
 (p. 110) how many sacks of flour were ground for one man 
 from time to time throughout a year, or between the times 
 when payments were due. 
 
 tender. In many harbors the water is not sufficiently deep to allow 
 ships of heavy draught to land close to shore. In such cases 
 small harbor vessels called tenders ply between the ships and 
 the shore, fetching and carrying both passengers and mer- 
 chandise. 
 
 trailed arms, muskets carried so that they are tipped obliquely 
 forward, held by the middle, with the butt end trailing on 
 the ground. 
 
 trundle-bed, a low bed that is moved on little wheels or trundles, so 
 that it can be put out of the way under a higher bed. 
 
 walked at her spinning wheel. In wool spinning, the spinner 
 walked back and forth before the large wheel. Flax was 
 spun with a much smaller wheel, by which the spinner worked 
 sitting. 
 
 weeny, old-time expression for "very little." 
 
 wended, went , took one's way. 
 
 withe, several tree twigs twisted together and bound. It made a 
 rough, short whip by which a rider could guide his horse. 
 
 wot, know or knew. 
 
 wry, twisted or crooked. 12